Empty Arms
by BravoExpressions
Summary: When Mary suffers a miscarriage, she finds herself more vulnerable than anticipated, and leaning on a treasured friend that might turn into something more. Takes place mid-season-four. T for sparse language.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I have returned, folks! It's taken me awhile, but I am finally back with a new tale. It hardly strays from my norm – pregnancy is forever involved, but this time in an entirely different capacity, as shown on the synopsis. I want to say upfront that whatever way I choose to portray this story; I am in no way trying to diminish the circumstances. It is a topic not spoken about nearly enough, but it is never my intention to offend, especially if I have readers who have gone through it.**

**Anyway, this takes place in the middle of season four, roughly a week or so after the episode, "I'm a Liver, not a Fighter." That means Marshall knows Mary is pregnant, but no one else, as Stan isn't clued in until the following episode, and Jinx and Brandi after.**

**Hope you'll enjoy the start!**

XXX

It happened on a Thursday.

To the naked eye, it was any old Thursday; just that simple day of the week prior to the welcoming Friday. It was the middle of June, and the southwest's burning heat had not yet reached its tipping point. Only at noon would the sun swing itself high into the sky and beat, strobe-like, against the desert plains. Otherwise, it was moderately warm; if not unbearably dry from lack-of-rain. The weather stations had been touting drought conditions for what seemed like weeks now.

This Thursday – Thursday morning, specifically – was deceptively mundane and routine. Mary performed all the ordinary rituals before she headed out for a long day of work. She woke at seven, and groped for her phone on the bedside table to see if there were any messages from Marshall. This particular sunrise, he had left her two texts regarding a witness in Santa Fe. The volume was a little under-average, but nothing to write home about.

She was off to the shower after dragging herself from the bed, and this prompted the first anomaly of an otherwise humdrum dawn. While she stood as the hot water rushed over her smooth, unspoiled skin, her lower belly started to ache.

Thinking of it as an 'anomaly' was really pushing it, Mary reflected as she reached for the soap. Much to her chagrin, she'd been experiencing more than the usual amount of pains with the child she was toting around. Although it irked her, it was certainly nothing she couldn't handle. She'd had a bit of a restless night anyway, finding it difficult to become comfortable. It was probably fatigue – and hunger – causing the twinges.

Unfortunately, the shower was the perfect place to examine her rapidly-protruding form. Unlike most pregnant women she'd observed – which wasn't many – Mary wasn't exactly round. She was more…_thick_. Or pudgy. Or paunchy. Those were the words she constantly used to describe her appearance to Marshall. In some ways, it was a blessing that her weight had settled across rather than all over. It just made her look fat instead of pregnant, which came in handy since she was trying to hide her condition from everyone imaginable.

In any case, she wasn't showing much at only sixteen weeks. Her plump quality was mostly contained to her face and midsection. To the unobservant eye, you would notice nothing out-of-place. It was her own damn bad luck that her Poindexter partner was as attentive as they came.

Abandoning her shower and pushing the aches out of her mind, Mary progressed to drying her hair only halfway, allowing the rest to air out on its own while she ate her breakfast. Perusing the newspaper, she munched pieces of toast in case the meal decided to come up later, thinking she'd been fortunate so far today to have escaped morning sickness.

Her phone buzzed with a third text while she pondered the day's schedule, and she glanced to see words from her sister. Lighting the little screen with a hasty roll of her eyes, she squinted to read the latest.

_Mark and I chatted on Facebook for two hours last night. No way is he this happy from just one visit – if you know what I mean! If you don't tell me what went down, I may have to use other methods to figure it out… ;) _

Mary gave an annoyed sigh, and changed her mind twice before she eventually palmed her Blackberry and dialed the digits to Brandi's cell. Ordinarily, she never would've given her the satisfaction, but she was tired of this game. It was time she minded her own business. Besides, she would figure out Mark's place in her life soon enough.

Brandi answered after only one ring.

"Hellooooo?" she sang girlishly, and much too coyly for Mary's liking.

"Cut the crap, Squish," was Mary's less-than-cheerful greeting. "The romantic, insinuating texts have gotta stop. I do have important stuff coming in on my phone, believe it or not."

"Well, then I think you should make it easier on yourself," Brandi suggested deviously through the speaker. "Meet me for lunch and spill your guts."

That, of course, was out of the question, and would've been even if Mary's day wasn't booked. She hadn't seen Brandi since getting knocked-up, and now wasn't the time to start. She'd go running to Jinx, who would have a complete fit. Telling them she wasn't keeping the baby wasn't a conversation she was willing to have yet.

"I'm supposed to reward you for poking your big nose into my private business?" Mary snapped with authority. "Fat chance of that."

"Oh, Mare; come onnnnnnn…" Brandi whined childishly. "Mark won't tell me anything either…!"

"Gee, you'd think that would give you some sort of hint," Mary slid in; taking a sip of her milk and wishing it were coffee. She contented herself that it was too warm for coffee anyway. It made it feel as though she was giving up the beverage for practical reasons.

"What are you so worried about anyway?" Brandi pressed eagerly. "If _really_ nothing happened, you'd say so. So, it's like I already know that you and Mark did the nasty…"

"Squish, grow up," the older sister snapped sharply. "Get a life. Go to work. Leave me alone."

Brandi huffed impatiently, creating static through the phone, but seemed relatively undeterred by Mary's harshness. After all, they were used to one another. She'd fallen prey to Mary's ill-tempered attitudes many-many times in the thirty-three years they'd been sisters. It was plain she was simply trying to figure out if it was worth it to continue haranguing, and sending Mary on the warpath.

"You're even more sour than usual today," was her eventual response. "Wake up on the wrong side of the bed, did you?" she sounded impossibly superior.

Mary could envision her in her mind's-eye; the short, coarse blonde hair; the blue eyes squinty and skeptical, with just a hint of a smirk on her perpetually innocent face. A hand would be fixed firmly on her hip, as though she had been denied some grand pleasure by Mary's inability to fess up.

"Funny. I was fine until _you_ called," Mary insulted in response to Brandi's equally offensive remark. She took a chomp of her toast, the butter lukewarm on her tongue. "Don't you have somewhere to be?"

"Peter said I didn't have to come in until ten today," Brandi informed her.

"Guess you get to bend the rules when you're engaged to the boss," Mary griped, roving her taste buds over her lips to catch stray cinnamon.

It was a tantalizing breakfast; the butter was rich and creamy; the cinnamon so sweet her teeth tingled. At the same time, the combination made her feel faintly off-kilter. The aroma seemed to seep into her stomach and churn, prompting further aches; a strident cramp against her belly. Mary could only guess this became the norm the longer you were pregnant.

"Will you at least see me this weekend?" Brandi was pressuring incessantly, whining now. "Please? It's been forever. You keep telling me you're busy…"

"It's not a lie, Squish," the older sister cut in.

"If I promise not to pester you, can we at least have dinner?"

Mary contemplated as quickly as she could, trying not to give Brandi a pause that was too lengthy, lest she arouse suspicion. It was true she was not going to be able to keep her sister – or her mother – at bay for much longer. If she continued to expand as she already was, the whole world would be able to tell she was with child. She already had the feeling Stan and Delia knew something.

Maybe the right time to deliver the news was presenting itself, especially if Brandi swore not to harass her to death. All her questions would be answered by then anyway.

"I don't know…" she was noncommittal, swiping up adrift bits of cinnamon from her plate and licking her finger. "I don't know what'll be going on at work."

"Do you seriously work on Saturday?" Brandi was disbelieving.

"Criminals don't take off on weekends."

On that note, her call waiting kicked in with an obnoxious, shrill beeping that made her jump. For a hardened US Marshal, she'd been strangely skittish about such a routine noise. Maybe it was because she'd thought the somewhat well-balanced breakfast would provide relief from her twisting innards, but no such luck. Toast devoured, milk gulped, and she was still off-center. Perhaps she'd inhaled too quickly.

"Brandi, I've gotta go…" she said hurriedly, hoping to distract the sibling by sounding important and all-knowing. With a quick glance at her ID, "Marshall's calling."

"All right…" Brandi bemoaned childishly with a hugely theatrical sigh. "But, will you call me later? Please? Pretty please?"

More visions burst into Mary's mind; Brandi down on her hands and knees, fingers intertwined and clutched together, for starters. Like some praying, porcelain doll. She was desperate for a little bit of gossip.

"Fine, yes…" Mary relented, wanting to scream because the bleeping right against her lobe was giving her a headache. "If I have a second at lunch, I'll call back."

As she rarely pinned down specific time frames, Brandi seized her opportunity with glee, "Okay! Have a good day! Bye!"

To Mary's astonishment, she hung up first, leaving the more rational of the two to answer Marshall. He had to wonder what had become of her, because she hardly ever allowed her cell to ring more than twice. In their line of work, you had to be ready at the first sound of the alarm.

"Hey…" she greeted him flatly, draining the last few swirls of her milk and standing to put her dirty dishes in the sink. "Phoning me before eight o'clock – before I've even managed to get out the door. Pretty sad your life has come to such things, doofus."

What she meant by this comment was that she recognized they probably had a busy day ahead of them if she _needed_ to be called before arriving at the office. She masked it by pretending Marshall did not have better things to do than sit by the phone waiting for the action to begin.

"Aren't you in a chipper mood this A.M…" her partner sang brightly from the other end. "Lost your breakfast yet?" being the only one who knew she was pregnant; he was the only one who knew about her morning sickness as well.

"It's only been down three minutes," she informed him snidely, clamping the cell between her ear and shoulder while she ran water on the plate and mug. "And, it's not going to be the food that makes me toss my cookies," even as her gut tightened uncomfortably. "It'll be my snoopy sister."

Marshall was rather unsympathetic and superior, "You can't expect her to lie in wait forever. She's smart enough to know when she's being avoided…"

"That's debatable…"

"And, once she gets a look at you, the jig will be up, my friend," he went on smugly. "Cat out of the bag. Indisputable…"

"That's _really_ flattering," Mary interrupted his babble with great annoyance. "That you think I look so much like a hippopotamus at only sixteen weeks."

There was no denying it, however. She was definitely pudgy, and the continued soreness in her lower abdomen only reminded her of this fact. Instead of digging into Marshall though, she skated past the subject of her expectancy to more important matters.

"Is there a particular reason you called?" she asked before he could respond. "I'm gonna be at the office in fifteen."

"Actually, yes," Marshall admitted, seeing she was definitely through with the pregnancy talk, at least for the moment. "Would you mind heading out and checking on Simon and the troops?" he was their latest witness; a young father with a two-year-old daughter that had just gotten settled in Albuquerque. "Unless you feel the presence of child in the flesh would put undue strain on your already tenuous condition."

"Go suck an egg, Marshall," Mary snapped without mercy. "Yes, I'll drop by, and then I'll be in."

"Copy that," the man declared with nary a response to such insults.

And when Mary abandoned her cell, she reflected with some satisfaction that at least this portion of her life – the Marshall portion – remained as steady and consistent as ever. Ordinary.

As it should be, on this, the seemingly run of the mill Thursday.

XXX

**A/N: Not a very long start, but it'll pick up! I'd love to know what you think!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I can't believe how many reviews I got for just the first chapter! You guys are awesome! The first couple chapters aren't very long, but they'll increase in due time.**

XXX

For the most part, Mary was able to push whatever pain she was feeling to the rear of her mind in favor of another day at the Sunshine Building. She had a very high tolerance, after all. A little rocking and rolling in her gut was nothing compared to the gunshot wound she had received in the same neighborhood. She had quite enough to be worrying about without some rug-rat beating on her insides. Brandi's misgivings, how she was going to get rid of her, and her physical stature, for starters. With each new day she hit the road as a US Marshal, she fretted internally on whether Stan or Delia would blurt out that they knew she was pregnant – Delia offering to throw a baby shower all the while.

If nothing else, she knew she could count on Marshall to stay mum until she was too large to be ignored. After visiting Simon-the-newest-witness sans offspring, who were in school, she barreled through the double doors on the roof at a quarter after nine.

Marshall himself was chewing an English muffin neatly over a napkin at his desk, eyes scanning a news article on his computer. He glanced upward briefly and waggled the fingers on his free hand in greeting.

"Good morning…" he stated with his usual politeness, no matter how irritable his partner might be. "How is Simon?"

Mary huffed impatiently, dumping her tote next to her desk with a rather loud thud. She felt stuffy in the black leggings she usually donned these days since her expanding waistline. Even though the striped shirt was airy, she couldn't help fanning it at the neck and wanting to shut the blinds to stifle some of the excess sunshine.

"What?" she barked. "No, 'how are you Mary?'"

"I will spare you a 'how are you Mary?' when I receive a 'how are you Marshall?'" he declared without so much as a snippet of contempt. "When do you suppose that will be? When hell freezes over?" raising his eyebrows the smallest fraction; the tiniest hint he might be teasing.

"Maybe not even then," Mary refused to give him the satisfaction and concentrated on getting oxygen.

Why did her belly feel so abnormally tight? It was as though someone was constricting the depths of her gut in a vise every few minutes. This kid couldn't possibly be too big for its housing already. She still had at least six months to go. And even though she could feel the air blasting from the vent under the window, she couldn't seem to cool down.

"I think there might be a box fan in the janitor's closet," Marshall offered upon noticing this development, leaving the salutations aside for the time being.

"Forget it," Mary snorted. "You don't think Stan and Delia will start poking around for answers when I thaw this place out?" her voice dropped to an undertone.

Marshall stood as he registered this tone, not to mention the evidence that his partner was roasting. He left the remains of his English muffin on his desk and dusted his hands on his jeans, venturing over. On the one hand, Mary was glad he possessed enough discretion to keep from shouting whatever he was thinking across the room. On the other, she didn't like having him so close to her. There was far too much to see up close these days.

Once they were in front of each other, he too kept an underscored profile as he spoke.

"You could just tell them," he suggested covertly. "Stan, at least. It is probable they already know."

"Haven't we been through this today already?" she snapped, feeling sweat seep into her shirt. "Do you think it makes me feel _better_ to know you see me as some sort of elephant?"

"An elephant's gestation is approximately twenty-two months," Marshall spouted before he could stop himself, raising a pointed finger while Mary rolled her eyes. "I shudder to think what would become of _all_ of us if you had to carry to term for that length of time."

"Put in a sock in it, would you?" she requested, narrowing her eyes and trying to look menacing. "I have enough problems."

"Such as?"

"Trying to walk with ankles swelling to the size of overstuffed turkeys, for starters…"

Marshall shrugged, "You want the rest of my breakfast?" he proposed kindly. "Might that keep your testy demeanor in check for at least the morning?"

Mary was forced to shake her head, although tried not to stomp all over his generous gift with too much aggravation. Only Marshall would give up his half-eaten biscuit to his surly workmate. She attempted to tell herself this was something decent people did; he wasn't necessarily coddling her.

"No…" she vocalized with each wag of her head. "I had breakfast, and I'm not hungry."

This elicited a most surprised look from her taller friend, and he actually stepped back, scrutinizing her with avid detail.

"_You're_ not hungry?" he questioned skeptically. "Can this be? You're finally full?"

Mary knew he was fooling around, but she knew Marshall well-enough to spot that a portion of him was truly unsettled by this bit of information. It was true she ate everything in sight even before she'd been with child; the pregnancy had only heightened such things. But, the gripping sensation in her belly was zapping her appetite, making that toast churn slightly uncomfortably. She could only guess that the delayed morning sickness was on its way.

"I would think you'd just be happy you get to keep your girly scone," Mary remarked slyly. "It's not every day I turn down your smorgasbord."

Marshall tipped his chin downward, "You have none-too-craftily skittered right past my original question."

Well, Mary was the master of avoiding. Today was no different. Even Marshall couldn't break her. She had refused to let this pregnancy slow her down from the very beginning – from allowing it to transform her into some woman that she wasn't. It didn't change her mindset or her ability to work, lest Marshall or anyone else forget it.

"New charge today?" she evaded quite breezily, sliding past the man to her desk, leaving him standing right next to all the fuming air from the conditioner. "Be here soon?" she perused the single file folder left on her desk, browsing the pages without really looking.

"Nobody that should be too much of a headache," Marshall accepted Mary's sudden aversion to food and shrugged, meandering back to her side. "Carmen Woods," he tapped her photo with his nail. "She all-but leapt at the chance at WITSEC – unattached, no children, and perfectly willing to flip on her not-exactly-law-abiding family. Shame…"

Marshall sighed unexpectedly, causing Mary's eyes to flick upward to see what this was about. His gaze was downcast, almost far-way, like he had lost himself in a different world.

"Shame…" he repeated. "That she would find Witness Protection more desirable than her own flesh and blood..."

"Don't be so sure I won't go that route one day…" Mary replied snidely to lighten the mood, not relishing when Marshall took their jobs to a more personal level.

"Anyway," he continued without acknowledging the interruption. "Stan and Delia just went to pick her up. I would imagine they will be here soon."

"Well, its high time we got a witness who is ready to take life by the horns…" she tossed the envelope back to her desk, and Marshall ceased with looking over her shoulder, ready to return to his. "We are way overdue for someone cooperative; I'm telling you…"

But _what_ exactly Mary was telling him, he wasn't going to find out. With a lurch that almost bowled her over to her knees, her stomach was seized as though someone had reached in and wrung every one of her intestines into pieces. It was like an explosion, and despite how severe the pain was, Mary managed only a definite cringe – mostly to keep the event from Marshall.

Unfortunately, it expelled in words without her consent, although indistinct, "Ah…"

She shut her eyes with a second wince, hand floating to her abdomen where she had felt the strike. It was gone as quickly as it had come, but it left a nasty throb behind, and when she opened her eyes, she saw Marshall watching her. She'd managed not to keel over, but was curled like a hunchback, trying to appear perfectly blasé in answer to her partner's obvious concern.

"Are you okay?" he asked, stopping halfway between desks.

"Fine…" Mary breathed, straightening as speedily as possible, talking herself off the ledge in the back of her mind. "Kid's a fireball this morning, I guess," she was grateful Stan and Delia were gone.

Marshall was not convinced and raised his eyebrows, clearly trying to keep himself from running to her, but he stayed put, feet rooted to the spot. But, Mary could tell by the way his right hand extended outward; the way he lay perched on the heels of his feet. He wasn't on his way across the room anymore.

"Are you sure?" he pressed, eyeing her stance, seeing how much effort it was taking for her to hold herself upright.

"Seriously, Marshall?" she quipped, flare dying further. "Do I really have to sit through six more months of this nursemaid routine? I said I'm fine," she shook her head and replaced the file into her hands, avoiding his penetrating stare. "Little heathen is probably just getting its kicking feet ready."

What she hoped would be a nonchalant comment apparently sparked Marshall's interest.

"Speaking of," his tone altered from worrying to questioning. "_Has_ the baby been kicking yet? You have neglected to mention, although with your distaste of childbearing, this is hardly surprising…"

"No," Mary interjected through his spiel, not understanding why this was important. "So it's a late bloomer. Big deal."

After a moment of silence, she found it rather strange that Marshall made no additional statements to her half-assed reply. In spite of herself, she looked upward to see him back at his desk, disposing of his muffin. But, his eyes hadn't left her face, proving he didn't need words to convey what he was thinking.

"Why?" Mary added as an afterthought, as though she did not especially care. "Should the wee one be bruising me up by now?"

"Not necessarily," Marshall answered truthfully. "It is different for everyone. I was just curious."

"Right," Mary snorted. "Been reading up? Feeding your pregnancy fetish?"

He was obviously glad to see her behaving more like herself and grinned, "Obsession can be a manic exploit when one does not reel it in properly."

Mary could not legitimately top such a well-worded retort and simply shook her head once more, shooting him a derisive look from across the room. To compensate, she sat down at her desk in hopes that whatever had struck her internal system was out of breath for the day. She didn't enjoy having to hide, nor did she enjoy having to answer to Marshall when she was caught unaware. Expectancy wasn't something she had any interest in researching; she preferred to forget the whole thing whenever possible and continue with life as usual.

Just the same, it should have occurred to her long before 9:30 that this Thursday was not as typical as one might have hoped.

XXX

**A/N: Hope you enjoyed! Thanks for reading!**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Thank-you once again for all the reviews! I do drag this out a bit, but we'll get there…**

XXX

Mary wasn't sure, at first, why the morning seemed to go so slowly. It moved at a snail's pace, inching onward by what felt like milliseconds rather than moments or minutes. She felt as though she could hear every tick in the clock on the wall, each more delayed than the last. Even as she went about her business; filled out forms, spoke on the phone, met with Carmen the newest witness, she seemed to grow heavier and heavier. Her pen was like lead through her fingers. D.C., on the other end of her line, took hours to answer her questions. Carmen spoke in a strangely deferred manner, not without covert glances to her inspector's belly, as though waiting to be told the woman would have to take leave any moment.

Amidst the lethargy was the continued sense of weakness within. Her stomach had not stopped hurting since she'd come in, and finally Mary deduced she simply hadn't had enough for breakfast. It was obvious, right? She'd have thrown up long before now if she'd given her digestive system enough to take in.

Around 10:30, she ventured to Marshall at his desk where he was pretending he wasn't watching her. Her boots made a clicking noise across the linoleum while she dragged her legs over.

"Hey…" she said in order to get his attention, for he was scribbling on a pad of paper in his lame, cursive-girl's handwriting. "Do you have anything to eat?" she leaned a hand on the corner of his counter and waited, hoping the pause would help her discomfort.

Fortunately, he chose not to give her a hard time after having offered up his biscuit earlier and bent his head, rummaging in his top drawer.

"Not much…" he replied in a muffled voice, contents crackling among the report. "I have an old cupcake…" he held up the packaged evidence with a flick of his eyes. "We can probably take lunch in a bit."

Mary shook her head even though he wasn't looking at her, "I should probably have something now."

It was foolish of her to act as though she were at all knowledgeable about what she did and did not need when it came to this kid. Marshall knew better, but her apparent sensibility had him abandoning his search. He slid the drawer shut and fixed her with a critical eye.

"You feeling okay?" he probed, but it was casual and non-hysterical, just as Mary preferred it.

This was why she didn't respond too jerkily. "Off," a hunch of her shoulders. "But, I'll bounce back. I don't think I got enough down with Brandi bugging me this morning."

"You want to take a long lunch?" Marshall asked sweetly. "I can cover for you with Stan," he indicated the office beyond where their boss had returned.

"This isn't an espionage operation, Marshall," Mary informed him, crinkling her nose as she said it. "And nothing to get worked-up over either," she added, even though he wasn't acting any such way. Dropping to a whisper, "Pregnant broads are sick all the time, right?"

"Well, even though that can be true…" he nearly spoke over her in a voice of healthy urgency. "That doesn't mean you shouldn't be self-aware. If you get to feeling too off-kilter, you should go and see someone; make an appointment. Can't be too careful."

Mary snorted, "In this line of work? This rug-rat is going to have to get used the rough-and-tumble."

Marshall did not accept this view at all. Mary recognized his features as being steely and serious; his blue eyes altered to a hardened grey and the muscles in his face tightened. She could see him going against better judgment and trying to fuss over her well-being.

"I'm serious," he claimed in a deep connotation, respecting her wishes of not making their office-mates privy. "I let you get away with this attitude when you went darting in front of a moving car and earned that shiner last week…"

"You're making me wish I hadn't asked," she snapped irritably. "And you wonder why I never want help with anything."

Not giving him a chance to defend himself, she snatched his squashed cupcake and marched back to her own desk, sluggishness furthered by anger. Marshall knew she hated people babying her; it made her feel like some pathetic sissy whining for mommy. She could take care of herself and, despite her resentment, this child as well. She'd devour the treat and be good as new. He would see. She'd show him.

And then, because Mary knew he was watching, she unwrapped the cupcake quite noisily, crumpled the wrapper, and stuffed it into her mouth whole.

"Gonna regret that you let me see where you hide your goodies, doofus," she drawled uncouthly around bites of chocolate. "Have to get a new secret nook."

"And you don't think I already have one?" Marshall was coy as he went back to his papers, obviously disgusted by both her eating habits and outlook. "You think I am going to let you get your greedy paws on my stash of cookies?"

"Cookies," Mary grunted in incredulity. "Right. Bag of strawberries, more like."

As she chewed, she contemplated with the fervent hope that eating would actually settle things down. The bursts of sharpness in her lower midsection – although less violent than the one hours before – were draining her energy. As Marshall had just noted, it wasn't even lunchtime and she had a full day ahead of her yet.

She had no time to dwell either. Stan had emerged from his office in only his shirt sleeves, his jacket draped over the back of his chair due to the heat. Mary quickly side-stepped fully behind her desk, so as not to be in plain view, lest her boss start scrutinizing her status.

"Marshall, do you have those financial forms ready for Mrs. Grunning?" he asked, seemingly blind to Mary, so she needn't have worried.

"Nearly," the other man replied. "I am just finishing up. Will you be back in the field this afternoon?" he wanted to know, flourishing with his pen.

"I just wanted to fax that out to D.C.," Stan explained, indicating the paper while Mary took a seat. "I've got to meet with a few people over at ABQ PD later, but probably after lunch…"

"Copy that," Marshall replied, glad to be in the know.

Unfortunately for Mary, this signaled the end of their conversation, causing Stan to mosey back her direction. Without trying to appear too frantic, she rolled her chair further into the slot, squashing her tummy rather unwisely, but she ignored the thud in favor of appearing nonchalant.

"What've you got going on?" he inquired from the corner of her desk, glancing at the documents strewn on top. "About six different things it would seem…" there was a hint of disapproval about the mess, but he knew Mary operated in her own way and chose not to comment further.

"Just checking the paperwork for Carmen," Mary referred to her witness from that morning. "Looking at living options and whatnot. The usual."

"Okay…" Stan nodded, easily satisfied, and Mary thought he was headed back to his den.

He had turned on his heel, after all, but something about her face must've caught his eye. He took pause, narrowing his eyes into slits for a brief moment. His inspector was fully prepared to tell him to have out with it, but he beat her to the punch.

"Are you doing all right?" he proposed casually. "You're not coming down with something are you?"

Mary's brain went off like an alarm, as though all the vessels were screaming, 'Red alert, red alert!' in protest. Her gut didn't take kindly to the stress either, and balled forcefully so her hand, concealed by the desktop, crunched on top of the spot as though to stifle the pain.

"No…" she managed while trying to stay cool, reminding herself to breathe. "Why would you ask me that?" her typical brand of snark didn't entirely force its way in, but it was a solid effort.

"No, I just…" Stan hedged, stuffing his hands into his pockets and settling into an anxious lull on the balls of his feet. "You're looking a little bit pale…" a frantic, meaningless gesture at her face before the free hand went back to its pocket. "But it's probably the light, it's nothing. Forget it."

Whatever Stan was thinking, he was clearly sorry he had brought it up, but Mary couldn't 'forget it' so easily. Stan didn't know. He didn't know she was pregnant. Did he?

There were two options here, and neither one was appealing. Either Stan had deduced she was with child and was trying to find a way to get her to spill the beans. That would explain the awkward look he was sporting this very moment. Or, he _didn't_ know she was pregnant and the tension being inflicted on her body was so great it was starting to drain the color from her skin. This only reinforced the idea that something had gone wrong, and Mary didn't even want to consider such a possibility.

"She just mentioned she was hungry…" Marshall suddenly piped up, thoroughly stunning his partner since he'd been the one to insist she confide in Stan. "Didn't get enough to eat this morning. We'll probably take our lunch break soon."

"Oh…" Stan shrugged and flashed Mary a genial smile. "That explains it."

And away he went, leaving Mary entirely perplexed and aching in his wake. One thing was for sure though – when push came to shove, Marshall wasn't one to back off on what he knew the woman wanted. He cared about her too much to betray her in such an enormous fashion.

It must've been her ailments that caused her to disobey her usual instincts, because she turned her head the briefest fraction toward Marshall.

"Thanks," she whispered.

He was less-than-pleased, not finding room to be surprised by the gratitude and wagged his head side-to-side, fed up with evasions and the 'tough-girl-stuff.'

"I said thanks," Mary repeated, suddenly irked that he would ignore the one time she'd chosen to give him credit.

"You're welcome," he grumbled. "But, don't get used to it. When it comes to your health, I'm not going to lie for you forever."

While Mary wished to be exasperated that he was hovering so closely, she decided it wasn't worth the effort. After finishing the particular form she was working on, she abandoned her desk for what seemed like the fifth time. She could hardly stand to sit still; upright, her legs felt like a pair of tree trunks and the continual jolts of pain weighed her down. But, sitting in her seat, she felt too confined to withstand that twisting, tightening sensation.

Standing at the window, allowing cool air to fan against her clammy skin, she tried to breathe a little out her mouth to cope with the experience, as Marshall could only see her profile. To her immense frustration, however, it didn't seem to help and her gasps became ragged while she shut her eyes against the force.

This was why she almost jumped when Marshall joined her at her post; she'd barely sensed his presence, not until he was a few feet away. She wasn't quick enough to stop him coming closer, and he prefaced his actions in any case.

"Don't open fire on me, okay?" he requested quietly. Mary eased her eyes open to see what he meant, but he had already gone on, "Just let me see…"

"What?" she griped without pushing him away, and felt his hand sweep her forehead.

It had been awhile since Marshall had touched her, she suddenly realized. He avoided it all costs because he knew she hated when people became too affectionate; not exactly her most flattering trait. But, Mary was rapidly realizing intricacies of his flesh she hadn't noticed before. His fingers were soft; the pads gentle against her head. His palm settled effortlessly, roving back and forth, her bangs fluttering against the top of his hand. She ascertained his skin felt lukewarm, which meant her own probably wasn't very hot.

"I don't think you're running a fever…" he reported and Mary decided she'd given him long enough, batting the hand aside so he wouldn't think she was becoming sentimental. She let him stay, however, and continued to listen. "Your eyes are kind of glassy…" he squinted. "Would you just tell me what's up?" he pleaded now that Stan had disappeared. "Are you overly nauseous? Is that what it is?"

"No…" she replied honestly, wishing in her growing agitation that she could lie on her belly, wondering if that would ease the discomfort. "I don't know…"

"_Did_ you get sick this morning?" he pressed; it seemed he'd taken her silence to this question as confirmation, but that wasn't the case.

"No," she said again.

Marshall's eyes narrowed further, watching her fidget to standing with her back against the vent. Her right hand hadn't left her lower belly since he'd stepped over to her.

"Why don't you take the afternoon?" he suggested, ignoring her last, tight-lipped response. "Maybe you just ran into something that didn't agree with you," Mary supposed he meant food. "I'll think of something to tell Stan. I know I give you a hard time about that, but really…"

It was amazing how quickly he changed his mind about being annoyed with her when he thought she was in trouble. And right now, Mary seemed to have him believing this really was nothing, but something told her if she admitted to being in pain, all nonchalance would go out the window. He would insist she go to a doctor, and there was no need. It was a bad day. She told herself as such over and over again.

"I don't need to go home," she insisted, pinching her words together as the cramps began to mount again. "Honestly, I have to get used to this, don't I?" wheezing, trying to keep going. "I'm in it for the long-haul, right?"

"Working when you feel like this isn't the most favorable idea," Marshall rationalized. "What if we have to go out into the field? You can barely stand."

It spiked Mary's ire that he had pointed this out, but she was nearly at her breaking point anyway. She had to get away from him, or he was going to see her double-over again; the intensity in the spasms was growing by the moment. She couldn't tell if she was going to throw up or fall to the ground, but her stomach had begun to spin and coil at the same time.

"Just, leave me…leave me be…" she choked out, and she all-but bolted from his side, hurrying as fast as she could to the shelter of the bathroom.

"Where are you going?" Marshall hissed to her retreating back, mindful of Stan and Delia, but starting to become seriously concerned.

"I have to pee," she announced, grateful now that he could not see her face.

Praying he would accept that excuse, Mary stumbled out of sight, shutting and locking the restroom door behind her.

Against her will, she started to panic. Running a steady stream of water in the sink, she splashed her face, but it only showed her just how gaunt her cheeks were in the old mirror. She was grateful for the opportunity to express her pain in whatever way she needed, no one breathing down her neck, but despite the winces and throaty gasps, it didn't make much difference.

What was going on? Hanging her head and trying to master the throbbing, she considered her options. She _could_ go home, as Marshall had suggested, but that didn't guarantee her health. She could power through, which was what she _wanted_ to do, but it was becoming harder. Of course, she could also call Doctor Reese's office, tell them what she was experiencing, and go in. Marshall would be proud of her practicality.

But, despite how she tried to deny it, she was a big wuss who was too afraid to find out what might be wrong to ask. She couldn't call anybody. She'd been through worse than this. This was an issue of mind-over-matter. The pain was only as bad as she made it out to be.

The light in the bathroom was going out, leaving Mary in a bizarre half-glow while she examined her features in the mirror. She'd grown hot being away from the pleasant breeze of the air conditioner. In its absence, she noted that the snugger crevices of her shirt were damp with sweat.

She wasn't sure how long she stayed in there, breathing hard and caressing her stomach, before the knock sounded on the wood. Mopping up her face, she worked to sound relaxed in her answer.

"Yeah?" echoing, but not bad.

"Mary, Tripp Sullivan just dropped in…" Marshall's voice was hesitant on the other side, as though afraid of disturbing his friend. "He wanted to talk to you about his mom; he had the morning free."

Tripp. Mary sighed audibly, hoping that Maureen hadn't gotten herself into another knot. With the way her mood was going today, she would be likely to sign up Billy and Gretel for foster care with or without consent.

Marshall drove forward when she didn't answer, "You'll be out in a minute?"

Mary gathered her courage and nodded, gearing herself up for what lay ahead.

"Yeah…!" she called with a second echo. "Just a second."

She stood up slowly, appreciative that the ailing had lessened slightly with a little bit of a break from exerting her duck-and-cover methods. Her legs were a little wobbly, but otherwise she felt all right. Flicking the water off, she brushed her hair behind her ears and opened the door to find Marshall waiting. She was surprised, having thought he'd return to his work.

"You gonna make it?" he inquired skeptically, peering downward into her apparently shiny eyes.

"Yeah, I'm fine," she promised swiftly. "You're right. Probably got a hold of poisoned seafood or something."

She hadn't expertly defined that she'd vomited in the bathroom, but her prior statement was used to make Marshall think she had. He was the last person she wanted to involve in this. He had enough to be concerned with, and none of it included her. She could not have him thinking she needed to be coddled and doted upon. The Mary who was his best friend was strong and independent. She had no desire to lose that title.

"All right…" the man responded. "Tripp's in the conference room," he indicated. "Holler if you need assistance."

"I won't," she assured him.

She could only hope she was right.

XXX

**A/N: Definitely picking up a bit! XOXO**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Evening all! Sorry I am late – I am traveling and in a different time zone!**

XXX

Mary's only success the entire morning was the fact that Tripp took her mind off her troubles for awhile. He was midway through college and playing baseball, although not on scholarship because he hadn't had enough time to practice during the crucial high school years. As it turned out, he hadn't come back to talk about his floozy of a mother, much to Mary's relief. It seemed the two of them didn't see much of each other, and all he wanted was the inspector's permission to extend the stipend for a new laptop.

It was close to lunchtime once they wrapped up their conversation and, while Mary's head might be otherwise occupied, she was still distinctly uncomfortable and ready to get rid of the bystander.

"Well, I'm glad everything's going so well…" she informed Tripp from across the conference table. "I'll get the paperwork in for that stipend as soon as I can."

"Thanks a lot," he said politely. "I mean, I don't need cash for the whole thing, just a little…"

"No, its fine," she assured him. "You're paying for a good chunk of it yourself. I'm glad you're putting all that dough to a practical use instead of bailing your mom out of another jam," she'd have to bring up Maureen sometime.

Tripp shrugged, "Her newest sugar daddy is pretty loaded, so she doesn't ask for much these days."

Mary forced a chuckle at her charge's phrasing that made her stomach prickle, "How long has she been with this one?" she inquired, trying to use the sentence to cover up how she shifted awkwardly in her chair.

"I don't know…" he tried to laugh it off, but it was plain to the inspector such a prospect still bothered him. "I don't really care either. Billy and Gretel stay with me a lot of the time. She's paying for them, but at least I know they're safe."

Mary sighed, leaning her chin in her head as she gazed at this young man – so responsible, so upstanding, and all before his time. Although he'd reminded her a little of a lost puppy in his more youthful days, she'd grown rather fond of him in the last two years. He'd developed a sense of humor and let it roll.

"Tripp, I am sure this sounds trite…" she prefaced, shaking her head. "But, she may get it together someday. I hope for your sake that she does," she assured him. "I know you think this is a load, but I speak from experience," a half-assed smirk to end it.

"Maybe…" Tripp scoffed and stood, pushing back his chair to retreat, taking papers with him. "Not holding my breath though."

"Yeah, neither was I…" Mary muttered as an afterthought, hardly daring to blame him, thinking of Jinx.

"It's not as bad as it used to be," he stepped around the side of the table near the door. "Billy likes high school, and the teachers _love_ Gretel. And my girlfriend loves _both_ of them."

He grinned condescendingly, and Mary wanted to make a smart remark about his ability to snag a chick, but found that she couldn't. The pain, dulled for the last hour or so, if still present, was back and it was vicious. It prompted a cringe that she sincerely hoped Tripp did not notice, because she couldn't start huffing and puffing in front of him. Her level of anxiety almost shot through the roof. She'd thought the worst was over, but now…

"I'm gonna get going," he breezed onward. "I have class at 12:30."

Not without an untimely pause, Mary finally nodded, biting her lip to fight shouting out.

"Sure. See you later."

She'd never known four words could be such an enormous effort. Tripp frowned slightly at her suddenly altered demeanor, but didn't call attention to it. Instead, he waved in farewell, which gave Mary permission to do the same without speaking.

She watched him through the window as Stan gave him admission through the glass doors toward the elevator. She screwed up her eyes and thought feverishly.

Mind over matter. Mind over matter. It'll go away. It went away once before. It'll go away again.

"Jesus…" Mary breathed to no one, surprised at how much stamina it took to outwit her uterus or her stomach, or whatever it was.

She was proud of herself; actually, for being able to get the better of her own internal system, however weak it made her. She shifted upright once more, and was just on the verge of striding back to the main room, when the jackhammer struck back with a vengeance.

Halfway to her feet, Mary bowled forward with a gasp; the force was like a series of knives slicing into her abdomen. She was being twisted and spit up from the inside out. Hands on the conference table, she actually whimpered – half out of pain, half out of fear – and the ruckus within became too pronounced. She couldn't stop herself; it was too disorienting…

"Marshall…!"

Fortunately – if there was anything fortunate about this – she was far enough away from him all the way across the room that he thought she'd merely yelled to get his attention, never mind her curled stance. As she couldn't see hunched over and panting for a breath of air, he seemed to simply appear before her very eyes. When she saw him in the doorway, she leaned quickly on the table, slumped unattractively in an attempt to appear something less than a basket case.

"Yeah?" he apparently did not notice anything odd, not yet, and went on. "You want to take lunch?" it seemed he'd asked this many times today already. "We have time."

Mary barely registered enough to try and explain that she still was not hungry. That cupcake had settled, heavy like a stone, in her gut. Nonetheless, the strength of the pierce had ebbed away slightly, and although she was now shaking from the havoc she was experiencing, she was able to get it together enough to answer coherently.

"I don't really want to go out…" she lied. "I have a few things to finish up."

"Come on; you have a few minutes to spare, don't you?" Marshall pleaded. "Besides, we don't have to go out. I had burgers delivered," he held up a white sack Mary hadn't noticed, as her vision was so narrowly focused on mounting the aches.

"You had burgers delivered?" she repeated to make sure she was hearing correctly.

"That would be correct," he reaffirmed. "So, take a load off. Have some fries. My treat, as always."

Without waiting for confirmation, he marched to the long table and plopped the bag right in front of her, the smell of meat and grease wafting up her nose; the latter seeping through the sack itself. It was the scent, actually, that made Mary feel queasy, but she buried it quickly. It was nothing compared to everything else.

"So…" Marshall segued on as he took a seat, pulling out his own meal and starting in right away. "How's Tripp?"

Mary, wide-eyed and skeptical, couldn't be certain that sitting down was safe. She'd be so close to Marshall, which made everything so much harder to hide. As he'd already told her, when it came to her well-being he would only sit mum for so long.

Still, her physical worries had fluttered off momentarily, and she decided it was best to take it. Plunking into the rolling chair, she grabbed the bucket of fries and munched a few while she responded.

"Better than usual," she reported around a mouthful. "Seems to have left mom in the rearview. Unfortunately, so long as she's playing by the rules I can't bust her for whoring around. The kids are taken care of; I guess that's what matters."

"True-true…" Marshall agreed. "It is quite commendable the way he's provided for Billy and Gretel."

"Yeah, he got his act together way quicker than I did when I was that age," Mary couldn't resist the comparisons as she nibbled her fries, too fearful to try the burger. "I was fresh off bumming around with Mark at nineteen."

"Don't be so hard on yourself," her partner offered. "Different strokes for different folks. The scenarios are not exactly the same."

Mary shrugged, "Whatever."

They were content to eat in silence after that; the pair of them had never felt the need to speak just because they were together. That was why Mary loved Marshall. Incredible recall of useless facts notwithstanding, he knew when to close his mouth and allow the hush to wrap them up.

Evidently, however, the stillness gave way for Marshall to become observant of his friend's actions. She only ate half the French fries and merely picked at her hamburger, neither of which was a customary action. He knew how she loved her food on every other day of the year.

"You going to ingest that sometime today?" he finally prompted, indicating the one bitten corner of the bun. "Or do I need to take it off your hands?"

He said it like he was teasing, but Mary refused to meet his eyes because she knew he was probing for answers that she didn't feel like giving.

"This beef is processed or something…" she snarked to cover up. "It cannot possibly be real meat."

"Now, do you really think I would allow you and your offspring to consume anything less than the best?" he pretended to be hurt, but his mention of the 'offspring' only ignited Mary's anxiety.

Maybe she could tell him the truth. She could confess that her stomach wasn't upset as it usually was at the stirrings of morning sickness. It hurt and she could barely breathe when the more strident of cramps waved through her midsection. Maybe he would know what to do. Didn't he always?

"Marshall…"

He leapt at the chance without a second thought, "Yes?"

Flicking her dark jade eyes to his twinkling blue ones, she tried to find trust and comfort there. He might not tell her anything she wanted to hear, but he would tell her the truth.

"I…"

He was patient. Just waiting. Mary attempted to prepare herself for his diagnosis.

"I'm not…"

She nearly jumped out of her skin when his cell phone went off, aggravating both of them. Marshall sighed and glanced at the ID. Clearly, he did not want to stop his partner from sharing, but it was plain he couldn't ignore the caller either.

"Just one second; I'll just be a second…"

He even held up a finger to demonstrate, but Mary faltered and backed down the second he replied, chickening out.

"It's nothing; forget it…"

She gathered her wrappers, still with food in them, and stuffed them into the empty sack to throw away while Marshall fruitlessly tried to do two things at once.

To Mary, "No, really…" And then, "Yes, I'm here…"

Abandoning a perfectly willing friend was second nature to Mary and she was able to block out his discussion and any mention of what she was going through. Leaving him in the spacious conference room by himself, she went back to the main room and deposited their trash in the bin beside her desk.

What had she been thinking, bothering Marshall with something so trivial? She couldn't have him thinking she couldn't handle anything that came her way. She'd been shot for Christ's sake. In comparison, this was…

Revolting. Wrenching. Repulsive. Horrendous.

The universe had to have imploded; the floor had bottomed out from underneath Mary's feet. Blackness and rushing pressed in on her as some sort of explosion went off in her belly. The pain was beyond her frame of reference; it was severing her into pieces; stringing her intestines. She was in agony; so harsh and callous was the ache that she knew she must have screamed, but couldn't hear the sound.

It must've been minutes before she realized she was on the ground, sunk to the floor with her knees pulled against her chest, trying desperately to ease the torture. Make it stop, make it stop, make it stop…

"Marshall…!"

For the second time in probably fifteen minutes, she'd called for him, but this time she was serious. Whatever the humiliation, she had to tell him. The pain was too great; she was going to pass out or be sick. Something was wrong. Definitely, and indisputably wrong.

His blue eyes were bright and alive with the opportunity to help Mary; she chronicled that much. She was trembling and afraid to stand up; afraid she might cry. But Marshall was there – simply there – and she realized in that moment that he'd known all along what she was fighting.

"Talk to me," he demanded quietly, crouching before her eyes. "What's the matter?"

Mary couldn't speak; her back was curled against the front of her own desk, like a child ducking hidden in a corner. There was no embarrassment to be had, however. She was too consumed in her own discomfort, trying to keep her eyes on Marshall's, but she could barely inhale.

"Breathe…" Marshall noticed, laying a hand on her shoulder, which Mary scarcely felt. "Take a deep breath; it'll pass…"

For a minute, maybe, but she was pretty certain by now that it wasn't going away completely.

"Mary, what's going on?" he pressed after a moment of ragged gasps. "What hurts?" a kind whisper.

She shook her head, desperate to tell him like she was coherent, but all that came out was a moan, expelling her suffering in nothing but a single sound. Why was the pain so intense? It was peaking; crashing on waves, bursting like hot flames against her tummy. How could one baby cause so much damage?

"There? Where your hand is?" Marshall assumed, watching that right hand clutching at her abdomen.

Mary managed a nod, grateful he'd figured this out. For a mere moment, she thought he was going to touch her paunchy form, but on the contrary. He curled his fingers around the hand he had just indicated and made her stand. Blindly, she did without really knowing how. With a flash where the world seemed to disappear momentarily, she was suddenly in her desk chair in front of the window.

She felt sweaty and scared, not to mention out of breath. She knew tears had fallen out of pure surprise at being knocked to the ground. Marshall squatted in front of her, hands on his knees. His face was sympathetic and efficient, if not a little worried himself.

"Mary…"

She knew that tone. He was going to tell her what to do, but instead of feeling relieved, she flipped the other direction.

"I want to go home…" she remembered his suggestions from earlier, somehow able to form the words, hoping against hope he would let her. A few pathetic tears trickled down her cheeks, "I'll go home…"

But she knew with a sense of escalating trepidation that they had surpassed this option.

"Mare, I can't let you go home," he said gently. "Someone needs to take a look at you."

He ignored the shaking of her head and went the full nine yards.

"Do you want me to call or an ambulance, or would you rather I drove you?"

Mary wanted to scream at him, "I am not going anywhere that requires an ambulance!" But, she was too apprehensive and too frightened to say so. Why had she let the situation take her this far? What if something could've been fixed hours before and she'd missed her chance? She could've ruined everything.

For the first time that day, she thought of the baby. Hell, forget her. How could she not have considered what might be wrong with this child? She'd never accepted her role as temporary housing as a mother's role. This baby had never been hers. How selfish could she become?

"I don't know what's wrong with me…" Mary choked out, at least managing to get her emotions under control. She wasn't going to fly off the handle completely, but she'd been deceived by her own body; it was shock that had her quivering where she sat. "I don't know what's wrong."

"One way or another, we will figure it out," Marshall claimed, and Mary noted he was being careful not to touch her. "So. Me or the ambulance?"

Mary gulped, taking another breath while the chaos siphoned off again. She knew she couldn't convince Marshall she was okay now, though lord knew she would've tried if she thought he'd buy it. But, neither of his choices were appealing. An ambulance would alert everyone under the sun, even though Delia was out getting her own lunch and only Stan remained. But, if she allowed Marshall to take her, she had no idea what he might fall witness to. She hated the idea of him thinking she was a gutless pansy.

"Where am I going?" she asked lamely to stall for time, dreading the next onslaught; whenever it decided to come.

To his credit, Marshall did not look exasperated and actually consulted her for an opinion.

"Do you think the emergency room is jumping the gun?" he asked cordially. "The hospital as a whole? Where is your OBGYN's office?"

Mary tried to think, but it wasn't easy right now. She was slumped so low in her chair she was in danger of falling out of it. Her cheeks felt flushed and her hair was matted; all she could consider was what was going to happen to her. The thought of doctors and hospitals; sonograms and IV tubes; all of it made her blood pressure spike.

"It's um…" her voice had gone hoarse and scratchy, like Brandi's. She swept her hair off her face, "It's like…twenty minutes; it's only a couple blocks from Mesa Regional."

"All right," Marshall nodded. "Why don't I take you there? We'll see what they say."

Although he had phrased it as a question, it couldn't have been more obvious to his friend that there was no agreement involved here. He was going to make her go no matter what she said, but she also knew she was out of alternatives. She'd done it this time.

"Sit tight…" he told her, and came out of his kneeling stance to presumably relay this news to their boss.

"What are you going to tell Stan?" Mary called frantically, suddenly realizing the conundrum she'd presented.

She felt certain Marshall was going to use this inopportune circumstance to give up the ghost, but on the contrary. He was going to defend her until the bitter end.

"I'll think of something."

He didn't even sound worried about it, Mary awed as she tipped her head back in the chair and closed her eyes, waiting for his return.

Marshall took care to knock on the chief's door even though it was open, thinking he hadn't possibly noticed Mary collapse, otherwise he'd have been upon them at once. Since he was seated at his desk, it was feasible the height of the window had concealed her once she'd slumped to the ground. He glanced up, bald head shining under the bright lights, and faced his inspector.

"What's up?" he wanted to know, setting his pen aside.

Marshall made no bones about it and didn't even leave the doorway. "Mary's feeling under-the-weather; I think I'm gonna give her a ride," he didn't specify where. "I'll be back as soon as I can," he gave no reference there either.

It was important not to lie to Stan, and Marshall had expertly surpassed an actual fib. While it made him uncomfortable, he'd promised Mary and now wasn't a good time to break his word. However, it appeared Stan was not as unobservant as they might've hoped when it came to this area of their lives.

He shoved a boxed salad aside with his elbow and wiped his mouth on his napkin, eyes not leaving the other man's. Marshall suddenly felt like a kid who had been put in time-out; wronging the authority figure and having to pay for it. He knew something. But did he know everything?

"What do you think she's got?" the older probed in an undertone.

Uh-oh, Marshall thought. A direct question. Harder to evade.

"I'm not really sure," he forced himself to admit.

Safe. Still not lying.

But, Stan was standing up and roving around his desk so that within moments he was right in front of Marshall. Despite how he tried to keep his concerns under wraps, he knew he looked somewhat frenzied because he wanted to get Mary to a doctor as soon as possible. Stan had to know he wouldn't be losing his head over some common cold.

"Marshall, level with me."

The tone dropped still lower as Stan took the briefest of glimpses out his blinds. Marshall's heart dropped into his stomach, knowing he could see the third of their trio practically curled in a chair and gripping a belly larger than it had been some three weeks before.

"She's not sick, is she? What's going on?"

Amazing, how Marshall could spin the most creative of stories when it came to keeping his witnesses safe. But one, penetrating, unyielding look from his boss – the man who was like a father to him – and he melted on the spot. Pitiful.

"I promised I wouldn't say anything," he whispered, barely moving his lips, not selling his partner out straightaway.

Stan bored into him with his dark brown eyes, moving his tongue back and forth in thought, even biting on his lower lip once. Marshall could see him contemplating, wondering if it was worth it to share his suspicions. Far more quickly than the inspector was ready for it, he made his decision.

"Is she pregnant?"

Stan's voice was so quiet Marshall might not have heard it if he hadn't been so on edge waiting. But, there was no doubt in his mind that he'd said it and cracked the code to boot. The younger man sighed, knowing he needed to hurry, knowing Mary would balk if he didn't pick up the pace. There was only one thing to do in order to move this along. Marshall gave a resigned, terse nod to confirm.

"How'd you know?"

Stan let out an irreverent snort, "Have you gotten a look at her lately? She's out in the field burning it off enough that she never puts on any weight. All of a sudden she's thicker across the middle?"

"Yeah-yeah…" Marshall muttered, wondering how he and Mary had ever though they could keep this from Stan, just hoping he didn't go forward to the size of Mary's chest. She'd be mortified.

"You take her wherever she needs to go," he clapped Marshall's shoulder, granting permission, not the least bit offended his two inspectors had thought he was dumb enough not to notice the obvious. "You think she's all right?"

"I really don't know…" he turned on his heel and made for the door, ready to get back to Mary. "I am kind of worried. She's got symptoms of…"

Marshall broke off, refusing to say such a thing aloud. He couldn't think so negatively. He had to remain upbeat. The baby was fine. The baby would be okay. Mary's warning signs didn't necessarily mean anything had happened to that little one within.

"Never mind," he shook his head. "We're gonna get going. Thanks," he added as an afterthought.

Stan nodded sedately and Marshall went on his way, grateful to know they had Stan's blessing. If what was going on with Mary was what Marshall thought it was, they were definitely going to need all the good vibes they could get.

XXX

**A/N: They're off and running! And I know it's sad – very difficult subject matter and I hope to do it justice.**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Thank-you again, so much, for all the reviews. Onward and upward!**

XXX

Mary was almost one hundred percent positive that Marshall had squealed on her when he'd gone to tell Stan they were leaving. The most miniscule portion of her brain that was still functioning was pissed as hell about this. The other very vast area was filled to the brim with nothing but the ugly, more persistent ache seeping across her middle, not to mention the apprehension about what lay at the OBGYN's office.

The entire ride, squirming in her seat, Mary wondered whether she should ask Marshall what the problem might be. She knew he had some inkling, although he would never openly say so. He wouldn't want her to take his word as the gospel. While she could use some reassurance, she wasn't sure that was on Marshall's list of offerings. Judging by his vivid, wild eyes and the way he drove ten miles over the speed limit, his hunches were nothing optimistic.

And for Marshall to be pessimistic? Well…you ought to just call her DOA right now and have done with it.

Doctor Reese's office, which housed about a dozen or so other female physicians, was a squat building only three stories high. Mary feared for her ability to walk once they got there, and was grateful Marshall let her sit down in a very hard chair while he went to the desk and explained her situation.

The waiting area was small; the vacant seats were crammed right in front of the receptionist's desk before a little alcove led to a frosted glass door, which housed the exam rooms. Though she tried to block it out, Mary heard every word Marshall and the attendant were exchanging. They didn't help her nervousness.

"Sir, are you quite sure that Miss Shannon doesn't need to go to the emergency room?"

No. Marshall, tell her no; Mary begged desperately from within. Fight it.

"I do not think it is quite so severe," Marshall rationalized calmly. Mary tipped her head against the wall, knocking it into the plaster slightly to distract from the way her abdomen was being ripped apart. "But, I would say she needs to be admitted as soon as possible," he stressed. "How long do you think the wait will be?"

The secretary consulted her computer, "Doctor Reese took lunch about fifteen minutes ago. I would imagine she'll be back within ten minutes, but she starts appointments again at one…"

Mary, who had been playing absently with her cell phone in hopes of avoiding the inevitable, snuck a glance at the time. It was just after 12:30, meaning if Doctor Reese agreed to see her, she'd have about fifteen minutes available, and would risk screwing up her entire schedule. With despair, Mary knew she was about to be forwarded to the hospital.

"Would it be all right if we wait?" Marshall didn't give up just yet. "And see what Doctor Reese has available? Just in case?"

The woman behind the desk nodded, "Of course, sir; so long as you're comfortable with Miss Shannon's condition."

Mary knew that her partner was not at all comfortable with her condition, but was willing to take it. He thanked the receptionist and went to join his other half in the chair at her right side. The office was empty apart from them, and Mary thanked her lucky stars for it. The pain had a clawing, relentless sort of ferocity now; it never went away, but it wasn't nearly as shocking as when she was slammed unexpectedly. Still, she didn't relish curling up into a ball again in front of total strangers.

"It may be a bit," Marshall relayed as he sat down. "But, we'll hope for the best."

Mary exhaled slowly, wanting to tell him she had heard as much – she wasn't deaf, after all – but she didn't have enough energy to bother. The cramping had bled her dry; all her limbs were rubbery and her heart was thudding around within her chest, keeping her on the alert for whatever might befall her next. She hated the doctor's office. People in sterile gloves and white coats; poking and prodding where they didn't belong. Suddenly, she wished Marshall weren't watching her.

"How you doing?" he asked when she didn't speak up or take her eyes off the stretch of wall in front of her. "You holding up?"

She was still craning her head against the wall, banging lightly over and over again, trying to concentrate on the self-inflicted discomfort rather than the kind she couldn't control.

Marshall did not approve, "Come on; don't do that…" he scolded, extending a hand, perhaps to stop her, but thought better of it. "You're making me cringe here…"

Mary finally flashed him a look of contempt, "_I'm_ making _you_ cringe?" she clarified. "You have _got_ to be kidding."

Marshall almost smiled, but the gesture only lingered behind his eyes, "Touché."

Vindicated briefly to be told she was right, Mary felt her phone began to vibrate for the third or fourth time against her leggings, which she ignored just as she had the last few times it had gone off. Marshall hadn't been present during those calls; he twisted his long neck around to see who it was on the display.

"What's Brandi want?" he asked, trying to make light conversation.

Mary shook her head slowly and closed her eyes, trying fruitlessly not to give into the exhaustion, "Nothing. I said I'd call at lunch, but I forgot," she explained. "I'll deal with her later."

The progression and length of the sentences were too strenuous in the current climate. It forced Mary to breathe, long and low, and even stifle recoiling from a trilling wave that coursed beneath once more. It made her feel only slightly better not to have to look Marshall in the eye while she did this, hating every moment.

He wasn't going to let her have that peace of mind, however, and his voice came through the darkness.

"Try to relax," he suggested placidly. "I know it's hard."

Did he now? Mary jiggled her foot absently as that last trickle tapered away. She had to have something to keep her focus elsewhere. Pondering the prospects beyond the glass door was too horrible to dwell upon. Insulting Marshall for daring to tell her to relax didn't seem the best choice. When she felt she could speak without running out of air, she opened her mouth once more.

"Give me some mindless drivel, Marshall…" she moaned softly, desperately. "Please…" a bitter laugh. "Don't wimp out on me like when Raph and I bit the dust."

Marshall chuckled too, and even though Mary still had her eyes shut and couldn't see him, she felt like she could see his lighthearted features in her mind's-eye. The shining blue eyes; like ripples of sunlight catching the ocean. The dark sprinkling of stubble across his chin and cheeks; sometimes she longed to touch it; feel the bristles against the tips of her fingers. She held that face; that reassuring face, deep inside as he spoke.

"I'll do my best," he swore from her right. "Well, I did neglect to mention that Abigail and I have discussed the possibility of co-habitation sometime in the near future."

Mary's insides twisted in such a unique way; she knew it was not from whatever dangerous ailments had been inflicted on her. It was the thought of Abigail, and a patronizing grunt escaped without her consent, although she didn't try very hard to stop it.

"What?" came Marshall's voice once more; bodiless and dark behind Mary's drawn lids. "Bad topic?"

She sighed, but gave in, "Go on."

"I don't see it happening in the _near_ future," he clarified with the leeway. "But within a few months or so. I would really love it if she moved into my place; I have grown rather attached to it. But, do you think that's too big a favor to impress on her when it comes to such an immense step in the relationship?"

Mary didn't answer, but became suspicious when Marshall didn't continue. Was the question actually directed at her? Slowly, she slid her eyes open and faced him, blinking fast when the harsh light hit her retinas.

"You're asking _me_?" she wondered incredulously.

Marshall shrugged, "Why not?"

It was possible he was just being kind, Mary thought. Could she be so out-of-it he could fool her into thinking he valued her opinion when it came to his love life? It didn't match up. He knew she was not exactly fond of Abigail. What was he playing at?

"Abigail's not my department," she forced herself to admit. "I really doubt you would find comfort in anything I have to say on the subject."

"Well, don't be so sure…" Marshall began, but the rest of his phrase was whisked away in a snap when his partner growled low in her throat, slanting her temple back against the wall when the discomfort became ruthless once more.

The balling, constricting sensation almost made Mary want to be sick. Her eyes squeezed shut rather than lay still now and she fought to say stationed in her seat, not wanting to make a spectacle in the waiting room. Marshall was tolerant and calm; Mary compelled herself to recall that face of his once more. She berated herself to focus on that. Mind over matter; outfox her own system.

It didn't quite work, "Marshall…" a far cry from screaming out; it was still disgraceful that she felt the need to alert him when he could obviously see she'd been hit hard again.

"Breathe…" were his words of wisdom. "Gather some of that oxygen; keep it flowing…"

Mary felt his hand patting her knee below, wondering whether he was going to tell her to 'be the river' next. She wished she could ask. She wished she could be herself again and make fun of him the way she'd been able to do only yesterday.

"Marshall, I want to know what's going on and get out of here…"

"Help's on the way," he guaranteed through the shadows.

And as if on cue, there was a door opening to Mary's left, but she wasn't in-tune enough to open her eyes and see who it was. Fortunately, Marshall was paying enough attention that he gave Mary the verdict without even trying. His hand fell from her leggings and something about the way he rustled convinced his fellow inspector he might've stood up.

"Helen?"

This didn't prompt further investigation on Mary's part. 'Helen' was not Doctor Reese, whose first name was Raquel. She didn't know whom Marshall had recognized, nor did she care. However, the voice that followed was about to answer her questions.

"Marshall…!" a lower woman's tone sounded surprised and somewhat pleased. "Don't usually see you out of our private sector down at Mesa Regional," a joke.

Suddenly curious, Mary fluttered her lashes and saw from her slouched position that Marshall was conversing with none other than Doctor Wolk, the physician they dealt with in WITSEC. The pair of them had seen her just a week before when dealing with Ben, whose liver had been failing him. Mary had known she was a versatile doctor, but she never saw her in action except when they needed her for something work-related.

"Well, I'm not out on business today…" Marshall continued, and in an instant, both he and Doctor Wolk's eyes landed on Mary.

Doctor Wolk tried to smile, "Mary," she inclined her head, and the mentioned waggled her fingers half-heartedly, an irritated and tired smirk on her face.

Mary knew she was dying to ask what two US Marshals were doing at the OBGYN's in the middle of the day, but as a seasoned person in such a position, she could probably guess. It seemed she wasn't going to have to inquire, however. Before Mary knew what was happening, Marshall had taken action without even asking his partner what she might think. He was in his expert 'fix-it' mode.

"You have a minute?" he questioned.

This earned him a bewildered glance, but compliance. "Sure…" Doctor Wolk said.

And leaving Mary to gulp for air all on her own, Marshall yanked her aside – near that hatch of admittance into paper-ridden cots and heapings of bad news. Mary was almost grateful she couldn't hear what they were discussing. She trusted Marshall to do the right thing, whether she wanted him blabbing her situation all over town or not.

Sequestered from his friend, Marshall launched in at once, not wanting Doctor Wolk to grow annoyed.

"I am wondering if you could do us – me and Mary – a huge favor."

Helen hunched her shoulders, "If I can. What's up? What brings you by? Nothing fun, I would imagine."

"No," Marshall confirmed. "Mary's been having a rough morning. She hasn't filled me in on everything, but near as I can tell, she's having quite a bit of pain in pretty consistent spurts. She's only sixteen weeks along…"

"Really?" Doctor Wolk latched onto this particular facet, glancing around the man for a peek at Mary. "Sixteen? I would've guessed later."

"She hasn't been thrilled about putting on the pounds," Marshall admitted. "But anyway, I am sure you have six million things to do; I wouldn't even think of asking…" a polite preface. "But, I really wanted to avoid taking her to the hospital and I want to make sure she's all right. Is there any chance…?"

Doctor Wolk cut him off with a supportive smile, patting his arm lightly in acceptance.

"I'll take a look at her, Marshall," she offered up at once. "I have about an hour before I have to be back on rounds at the hospital, and I know Raquel is booked up this afternoon."

"Really?" Marshall was surprised she had agreed so readily, but thrilled. "Thank-you, really…"

"No problem," the woman assured him. "Symptoms like that aren't anything to mess around with."

Marshall's relief washed aside quite quickly to make way for a sense of foreboding. Despite Doctor Wolk's willingness to help, he couldn't ignore the seriousness that lined her face; the darkened quality of her eyes. While she wanted to do right by her colleagues, Marshall also knew she wanted to help because she was a knowledgeable physician and wanted to halt any more harm from coming a patient's way.

"Tell Mary I'll be with her in just a minute," she instructed when Marshall gave no response.

"Okay…" he agreed. "Thank-you."

She nodded once more and disappeared within the single door, giving Marshall the freedom to return to his friend, who had fortuitously stopped wincing.

"You're in luck," he stated buoyantly as he plopped next to her once more. "Doctor Wolk said she could get you in right away."

"What?" Mary looked startled and sat up a little further. "Right now?"

Marshall raised his eyebrows, "You know a better time?"

"Well, no…"

Her voice trailed away, and Marshall knew it was nervousness that was causing her to button up. She might want this taken care of and diagnosed, but the possibility of the results not being welcome made for a tense demeanor. As if she didn't have enough issues.

Marshall watched her recline back in the chair once more and decided that now, above any other moment, was the time to bestow the best attitude he could conjure up.

"Promise me you'll tough it out and use your best manners?"

He started with a joke, turning his mouth up on the corners, but Mary's face was flat and worried, biting on her lower lip in agitation. All Marshall could do was extend his fist to hers, offering the least affectionate form of comfort he possessed – a knuckle-pound.

"You'll be fine, Mare."

She might be, that was true. But, the baby? That was another issue all together.

Nonetheless, she wanted Marshall to think she was big and brave, and so she gave him what he was asking for and nudged trembling knuckles against his.

"That's my girl."

XXX

**A/N: No answers yet, but just our favorite pair together!**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: I apologize again for my tardiness – the change in time zones has mixed me up! **

XXX

Nobody told Mary to put on a gown. Nobody told her to put her feet in a pair of stirrups. Nobody even told her to sit down. The term they used was, 'wait.' A nurse in teal scrubs printed with atrocious pink bows stuck her head out of the frosted door and called her to come back. Leaving Marshall in the waiting room, she was led to an exam room almost at the end of the hall. And told to, 'wait.'

Wait for what, Mary wondered nervously. For the verdict? The sentencing? A doctor; a nurse; a morphine drip? What? She supposed all these medical personnel thought she was like all other pregnant women – in tune with her own body and well-read when it came to abnormalities in gestation, but she wasn't. She had Marshall for that sort of thing, and she suddenly wished she'd spent a little more time listening to some of the facts he'd fed her. They might do her some good right now.

Mary didn't lie down, but sat with her legs dangling over the edge of a soft, pre-reclined bed. The ultrasound machine, with its wand dangling by a cord, was over in the corner opposite the sink. It was a tiny room; barely big enough for the bed itself. There was a poster on one wall of a baby descending down the birth canal. Mary quickly averted her eyes, but another picture depicted fetal development week-by-week. Curiosity almost had her glancing to see what this child might look like at sixteen weeks, but she changed her mind and focused on her hands in her lap instead.

She was stationary only for a moment before the door sounded and Doctor Wolk came in, this time wearing a lab coat and pocketing a pen. She carried a clipboard with forms fluttering beneath the clamp. Mary wondered, vaguely, why she had dispensed with the pen when she was obviously going to be using it sooner rather than later.

"Hey Mary…" she greeted her smoothly, mostly business but also unperturbed.

"Hi," the other mumbled, not sure what salutation might be appropriate for an unexpected meeting such as this.

"I told Doctor Reese that I decided to look in on you," she went to the sink and rinsed her hands. "But, I'll give her all your paperwork after we figure out what's up here and she can proceed from there. Is that okay with you?" she turned her head over the sound of running water.

Mary nodded slowly, "Yeah, fine."

She didn't see why this would matter to her, but she supposed it was protocol when you were passed from doctor-to-doctor. Once Helen finished washing up, she stepped over to Mary and proceeded with what was probably supposed to be easy conversation.

"Raquel and I were at John's Hopkins together back in the dark ages," she explained with a reminiscent grin. "We trade patients like shoes – probably totally against the code of ethics somewhere, but we've always managed to make it work."

Mary sensed she said this so Mary herself would not feel like she was horning in or becoming a burden, but it was unnecessary. She felt more comfortable with Helen than with Doctor Reese because she'd known her longer, despite never having been in this particular situation before. She trusted Doctor Wolk because she knew without question she could keep her secrets. Her work with WITSEC proved that.

When Mary had nothing to say to the discussion, Helen's face turned a little more serious. It was clear she'd discovered it was time to get on with it. The small talk was over.

"What's going on Mary?" she asked plainly. "Marshall said you've been having really bad cramps…"

As she spoke, she felt Mary's forehead and took the pulse in her neck, timing it with her watch. Mary tried to give all the information she could, but was distracted by the movement, wondering with each stroke if she was about to be told what had gone awry.

"He said that, huh?" she gave a weak laugh, knowing she hadn't said any such thing to Marshall; that he'd deduced it on his own after previously thinking she was ill. "I didn't even clarify for him…"

"He seems worried about you," Doctor Wolk pointed out as she left her post and went to grab the ultrasound machine, rolling it on wheels to Mary's bedside.

"He always worries about me," Mary admitted without thinking, said with slight disdain. "Warranted or unwarranted."

Helen smiled warmly, "That's a good friend."

Mary supposed this was true, and even though she labeled Marshall her best friend, she rarely thought of his actions as such. Regardless, now wasn't the time to think about it. She suddenly realized she hadn't even answered Doctor Wolk's question; a foolish mistake considering why they were here.

"I just thought the pain was routine…" she tried to be casual about it, but her throat went dry at the prospect. "I've never been pregnant; I've never known anyone who has unless you count my mother…"

Doctor Wolk chuckled, but allowed her to continue.

"But, it started to get worse throughout the morning…" she knew it was important to be honest but even so, the next portion brought a burning redness to her cheeks without her permission. "…I just…" swallowing; shaking her head. "…I had a hard time coping."

Her cheeks flared like they were on fire; she was so embarrassed; so humiliated not to have a higher threshold for such things. She had probably made a mountain out of a molehill in the worst possible way. She shuddered to think what her partner would say when they found out she had an overactive uterus or something – or even an overactive baby. That it was nothing at all.

"If it was that bad, you did the right thing by coming in," Doctor Wolk assured her.

"Marshall made me," she mumbled.

Helen ignored her, "It's nothing to be ashamed of."

Mary wholeheartedly disagreed, but didn't say so. She was too drawn by Doctor Wolk's assemblage of the ultrasound machine and, recognizing the actions; she swung her legs up onto the bed and reclined back with her head against the tilt. She attempted, painstakingly, not to be nervous; not to show her cards. She knew her breathing sounded loud and ragged in such a small space.

"I'm gonna do an ultrasound Mary…" the physician told her, seating herself in a rolling chair beside the mechanism. "I'll see what we can find. Some women do experience more cramping than others, and it doesn't mean anything is wrong. Sometimes, there's a bigger issue though and I don't want to take any chances."

Mary nodded quickly to show she was onboard and did the honors by pulling up the hem of her shirt. She expected Doctor Wolk to administer that cold, icy gel the minute her skin was exposed, but that wasn't the case. Memory jogged by seeing the roundness in all its glory, she appealed to the patient before beginning.

"Marshall said you're sixteen weeks," she stated with a furrowed brow. "Is that right?"

The beginnings of failure trickled in Mary's mind. She'd done her best to give Doctor Reese the right information; she'd slept with Mark sometime in February – late February. Or was it March? Had she told Doctor Reese it was in March? Now she couldn't remember; she'd lost track trying to block the incident out of her mind.

"I think…" she offered lamely. "Shouldn't I be?" a brave attempt at her old sarcasm.

"No…" Doctor Wolk shook her head. "Just checking."

She brushed it off at that, but Mary knew that couldn't be the only reason she'd asked. Just the same, she was glad to have it off the table and tried not to stiffen when the gel hit her belly. While the wand rotated back and forth via Helen's wrist, Mary turned her head sideways, fixing her glance on the black screen adorned with little random splotches of white; like misplaced stars in the galaxy.

"See if we can pin down this little one…" Doctor Wolk muttered absently to herself.

Watching with unease, Mary took herself back to the very first time she'd heard that fateful heartbeat. She'd been disoriented and floored to think there was some minuscule being floating free within her confines. A being she was responsible for, one way or another; a child who would change her life, be it from afar or close to home. It had all been made real by that steady drum; the white light flashing relentlessly as confirmation. She would be a mother; as mommy, mama, or simply biological – nameless and faceless – it had shown her this was something she could never completely run away from.

And now she waited, just as the nurse had told her to do. She waited to watch that blinking glow strobe through the room, followed by the rhythmic pounding. She waited to be told the child looked all right, but there was a small problem. Just a minor mishap. Nothing they couldn't fix. Nothing that couldn't be prevented.

The patterns of the wand slowed as Doctor Wolk pulled almost to a halt.

Back. Forth.

Tick. Tock.

Drag. Pause. Stop.

The screen. It was blank. The surrounding air as silent as the tomb. And when Mary forced herself to tear her eyes from the picture, she saw Doctor Wolk looking grave; her carefree demeanor had vanished to be replaced by this hardened, discouraged stare.

If Mary squinted, she thought she saw _something_ in that vast stretch of blackness; the splotches that were planets dying out. But the something, whatever it was, wasn't moving.

And the woman was suddenly struck with a realization she hadn't even considered before. She'd never, in her wildest dreams, imagined it would come down to this. Something within her core, very deep down, knew what she was about to be told.

Somehow, though it remained a mystery how, she actually spoke.

"Is there even anything to find?"

It was a whisper, like leaves dancing and whirling on the greyest of sidewalks in a chilly fall breeze. The kind of wind that makes the hair on your arms stand up; to chill to the very bone.

Doctor Wolk said nothing. She finally relented in her movements with the wand and hooked it in its place. The ultrasound machine flickered off and Mary's eyes probed back and forth, wanting to scream for her to give her some answers, but she was suddenly lost for words. Once the visual aide had been pushed away, Helen towed her chair further forward so she was just below Mary's gaze. The steeliness of her orbs and the flat line of her mouth told Mary her worst suspicions had been confirmed.

Bells and sirens and bombs went off in Mary's brain. Six thousand pleas of desperation jumbled themselves in sixty seconds before Helen announced her fate.

_Don't say it! Don't!_

_I'll follow orders! I won't play so rough! I'll listen to Marshall and be careful!_

_I'll be careful! I really will! I promise – give me another chance!_

_I wasn't really going to give him away!_

_I didn't mean to! I can keep him safe; I swear! I won't let him get hurt anymore!  
_

_What have I done? _

"Mary…"

The hands intertwined and clasped together. The chin tipped down and then back up.

"There's no heartbeat."

Mary stared, nonplussed. Feeling certain something like this was coming somehow didn't stop the news from being shocking.

"What can you do for that?" she whispered.

The sympathy in Doctor Wolk's eyes was tormenting. It told Mary how stupid she was being; how far in denial she had already rooted herself. But, the other woman hadn't said the words. Mary had no intention of accepting until she did.

Helen looked like she wanted to reach for Mary's hand, but changed her mind. Instead, she made herself reveal the remainder of the diagnosis.

"Mary, you had a miscarriage," she explained softly.

And despite how cold it sounded, the doctor knew how this woman usually wanted the unvarnished truth.

"The baby died."

Mary had no idea how those three little words would come to haunt her in the seconds, minutes, hours, and days to follow. She was stunned; sitting there with her shirt still halfway up and her form turned to one side. How could this be? What had happened? What had gone wrong? Oddly, the sight of her bare belly was what she grabbed hold of; proof this might be some sort of a mistake.

"But, I'm not…" her voice was so meek it didn't even sound like her own. "I mean…" something that was supposed to be convincing snuck into her eyes and a strange sort of smirk fell onto her face. "Look at me."

This would explain it, surely. She wouldn't be so pudgy if she weren't pregnant. The grin was knocked aside as quickly as it came on, and Doctor Wolk had specifics here as well.

"The fetus didn't disappear, Mary…" she clarified, and the inspector suddenly realized how dumb she had sounded for the second time. "You were – you are – pregnant. The baby is still in your uterus, but the heart stopped beating meaning the fetus didn't survive."

Mary was strangely off-put by how she switched from 'fetus' to 'baby' so effortlessly, but she couldn't say why.

"Your body recognized that the baby had died and tried to…" she hesitated only for a moment. "Take care of it," she finished quickly. "That's why you were in so much pain."

Although Mary heard each of these words; pounded into her brain as though with a sledgehammer, she didn't seem to be able to make sense of any of them. They siphoned off the minute they entered; meaningless and trivial.

Her biggest question was why. Why had this happened? What had she done wrong? How could she have controlled it? There had to have been a way.

"What did I do?" she whispered fearfully.

"What?" Helen hadn't heard; her tone was so timid.

Mary cleared her throat shakily, "What did I do wrong? Couldn't I have stopped it? I must've screwed up somehow."

Oh no. She was about to cry. Why did she feel the bitter sting of those wretched tears in the backs of her eyes? Someone had stuffed wads of cotton in her throat and she wasn't going to be able to hold herself back.

She wasn't sad, she told herself. She was angry and she was frustrated. It was all her fault. Not only had she denied this kid its future, but she'd denied some deserving family the opportunity to be parents. This was not about Mary at all. How could she start crying like she was the one who had lost something here?

"Mary, you didn't do anything," Doctor Wolk assured her kindly. "Miscarriages are far more common than people realize, usually before the twelfth week of pregnancy…"

"But, I'm sixteen weeks!" Mary interrupted croakily, as though this made any difference.

To her surprise, Doctor Wolk shook her head.

"I'm not sure you are," she said quietly. "I think the amount of weight you gained so early combined with maybe a minor mathematical error somewhere led Doctor Reese to believe you were further along than you are," she estimated. "I would guess you're between twelve and fourteen weeks. Miscarriages after twelve or thirteen weeks aren't nearly as frequent."

Was this supposed to make Mary feel better? She'd fallen right in line with the numbers, so no reason to worry? While she knew deep down that Doctor Wolk did not intend to heighten her feelings of guilt – because she knew Mary thrived on the facts – it only worsened such shame. How could she not have had a hand in this? It was impossible.

"I fell…" she blurted out recklessly, earning raised eyebrows from the other woman. "Like, a week and a half ago. Marshall told me to see someone, and I didn't listen; I felt fine…"

"Mary, there's no need to place blame," Helen repeated confidently, albeit slightly sadly. "If you had miscarried because of the fall, you'd have known long before now. It really isn't something anybody can control," part of this seemed rehearsed. "You didn't do anything wrong."

Mary remained unconvinced, but she was fast-becoming mortified; her snappish persona wasn't holding up one iota. Pools of tears had gathered in her large green eyes; she was fighting so hard to keep them at bay. A few stubborn ones snuck out around the corners, leaking onto her cheeks. She turned her face away from Doctor Wolk, using her sleeve to mop them up.

"I'm sorry…" she finally stated respectfully; even kindly. "It's not easy, Mary; I'm really sorry."

Saying it twice didn't give Mary any satisfaction. As she wouldn't meet the woman's gaze, Helen placed a hand on her forearm, willing her to turn around and listen. When Mary felt certain the tears were under control, she slowly rotated the other direction, willing herself to appear adult.

She imagined she failed miserably.

"I need to tell you where we go from here," Doctor Wolk presented in a nice even tone. "Are you okay to listen?" And without waiting for an answer, "I can give you a minute. Why don't I grab Marshall?"

"No," Mary said instantly, but with slightly lackluster vigor.

The last person she wanted seeing her like this was Marshall.

"Are you sure?"

Mary nodded, although the energy was draining from her faster than she could keep up. The soreness only seemed to seep into her bones with Doctor Wolk's next words.

"Your body hasn't expelled the fetus," she detailed upfront. "You have two choices on how you would like to proceed. I can send you home, and you will actually – eventually – miscarry fully on your own. Your body knows what to do."

Mary had severe doubts about this and it sounded horrifying. And although she figured Doctor Wolk was supposed to be impartial, she clearly had a personal opinion when it came to this method.

"While physically there are few risks that go along with letting you do this…" she began. "Emotionally, it can be very trying, Mary. It could take several days for the process to be complete, and it causes quite a bit of pain."

Mary just gulped and shut her eyes once before urging Helen forward, hoping fervently the second prospect was more appealing than the first.

"What's the other choice?"

The physician nodded, "I could perform a procedure called a D and C. We'd put you under general anesthesia for about thirty minutes and take care of the baby and any remaining tissue in your uterus."

Mary hadn't a clue what she meant by, 'take care of' but she wasn't sure she wanted to know. She'd be asleep. She wouldn't remember what they'd done. She could try to forget this whole nightmare ever occurred and that, above all, seemed the best option possible.

"Would I have to stay overnight?" just to make sure.

"No," Helen assured her. "It's a very minimal operation; sometimes it doesn't even take the full half hour. Unless you had complications, I would send you home within the hour after you come out of the anesthesia."

Mary bobbed her head; all questions answered. She dreaded having unplanned surgery; dreaded the loopy, sluggish feeling she contracted after being put under. The medications often made her nauseous; she'd spent almost an entire day in the hospital throwing up when she'd been bedridden with her bullet wound.

How had she ended up here? Yesterday she'd been bemoaning the existence of swollen ankles and now what? She was going under the knife. She'd lost a child; brand new as they might be. She wasn't going to be pregnant much longer.

And despite the reservations, "I guess I'll do that," she whispered flatly.

"All right," Helen stood and replaced her chair to its original location, proceeding with rules and regulations. "I'll call over to Mesa Regional and get you set up. Can Marshall give you a ride home afterward?"

Mary was confused by this question, lost in her own thoughts; lost in a world far beyond this one where the hurt was so prominent.

"I…I don't know…" she muttered absently.

"After having been under anesthesia, you'll be a little bit groggy; better safe than sorry with heavy machinery."

Mary understood now, but still didn't know the answer, "Would you ask him?"

For the first time since delivering the news, Doctor Wolk smiled, but it was a melancholy smile. It was a gesture Mary couldn't share.

"Sure," she agreed. "I can tell him what happened too, if you like."

Mary was briefly liberated to know she was being spared such a task. She also knew it was probably completely against the rules for Doctor Wolk to confide in someone who was not the father or a family member. But, Mary didn't care; she'd offered and she was going to take it. Marshall's face in the back of her mind's eye, so reassuring not so long before, now presented a different picture. She could see his desolate blue eyes; the frown on the corners of his mouth. It was bad enough in pretend form; she didn't need to see the real thing.

"Thanks," Mary finally answered.

Before departing entirely, Helen went to the counter by the sink and pulled three or four tissues from a box. Without a word, she deposited them in Mary's lap. The formerly expectant mother was disheartened that she hadn't managed to conceal her emotions, but chose not to respond in kind.

And once Doctor Wolk had departed, she reluctantly dabbed at her eyes and tried to keep her nose from running down her face. She ached for Marshall, and yet couldn't stomach the thought of him viewing her in such a downtrodden state. She'd lost control in the worst possible way; denied him this child she'd known he had adored. The child she had planned to ship away.

But, the ache for Marshall was the only one she felt. The pain might still be coursing within; prompting stabs of discomfort the likes of which she had experienced all morning. But, she could sense it no more.

She was as numb to physicalities as she was ever going to be. The sorrow was so strong; there was no room for anything else.

XXX

**A/N: I'm sure some will be disappointed since I didn't have Marshall with Mary when she received the news, but it's just not how I envisioned it. Not to worry – he'll be back!**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: I promise the lateness of the updates should end tomorrow! Thank-you for sticking with me even though I haven't been able to update on time! The story is definitely written, I am just off-time from travel!**

XXX

Mary was in the exam room far longer than she expected to be. She could hear a little of what was going on behind the door – Doctor Wolk and Doctor Reese exchanging notes on her condition; phone calls to the hospital, as there was another receptionist's desk on this side of the waiting room. She became immune to most of it; zoning out and waiting to be told she could leave and go to Mesa Regional. In the back of her mind, she was grateful she had left Marshall with her cell phone. She suspected Brandi would still be calling and couldn't fathom how to deal with such a thing right now.

So, she lay on the bed, facing the wall away from the door so she could not see who might come in. If she pulled her knees and hunched them slightly, the aching in her tummy wasn't so bad. The bed was hard and unforgiving, and there was no pillow. Her used tissues were scattered up near her chest, as her tears had dried and she didn't need them anymore. Hazily, she might be angry about being left in here with nary a bit of news, but she was numb to that feeling as well.

When the door finally did open, she assumed it was Doctor Wolk or a nurse; come to tell her she was free to leave at last – only to return at an even more unwelcome vicinity. She ignored the footsteps and the rustlings, and was therefore alarmed when Marshall slipped in front of her line of vision.

Alarmed internally, that is. Her mind was on another planet and so she doubted the emotion appeared on her face. What she concerned herself with instead was the fact that she knew her eyes were bloodshot from crying, and the Kleenex would be all the evidence her partner needed.

"Hey."

Three miniscule letters; one simple word was all it took to bring Mary back to earth. She saw herself from his point-of-view; lying, helpless and ailing; a reddened nose and clothes with their hems off-center. What he must think of her. She knew Marshall pretty well, but even she couldn't get inside his head far enough to determine his thoughts when it came to this.

"Hi…" her voice was deep when she tried to reply.

She assessed him up-and-down. He had his hands in his pockets, but she almost thought she could see his nails clawing at the inside, like he was dying to reach out and touch her. His skin looked paler, somehow, although she figured this was her imagination. There was a nonchalant quality that lingered on the crevices of his mouth, but it was his eyes that gave him away. Sunken and forlorn; they were as sad as Mary had ever seen them. How could she make him look like that?

"Doctor Wolk said you can go on over to the hospital now," he reported composedly. "She asked if I would drive you; I just wanted to make sure that was all right with you."

Mary was floored to think he'd believe it wasn't. How else was she supposed to get there? They'd taken his car. Her mother and sister hadn't known she was pregnant. The father of the baby hadn't even known she was pregnant. Unless she wanted to call up Stan and rely on him, Marshall was her only choice.

"Who else would take me?" she wondered aloud.

Marshall didn't answer, and Mary slowly pushed herself up with one hand, making several tissues fall to the floor. Neither she or Marshall made any move to pick them up. She slid off the cot and onto the ground, adjusting her wrinkled clothing, which she despised doing in front of this man.

Now that she was upright, she knew she ought to make for the door; lead and way and get this show on the road. But, she couldn't make her feet move. Despite how fiercely she wanted to remain aloof and unabashed with Marshall, there was a cold, hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach. It felt so traitorous to act as if this was no big deal, but throwing a hissy fit wasn't who she was. She was caught in limbo. She wished Marshall would say something.

With his trademark ESP when it came to all-things-Mary, his lips parted and off he went.

"I don't think the surgery is too invasive," he offered in a rather monotonous voice, but it was music to Mary's ears. To hear him spouting scholarly was excruciatingly familiar. "You'll be able to sleep in your own bed tonight."

Mary nodded, "Mmm hmm."

She silently begged him to keep talking. If he kept talking, she didn't have to say anything. She wouldn't start bawling or sniping; all she would have to do is hear him. She already adored him for being so level-headed about this; as if it were routine. Jinx and Brandi would've been having a fit.

"I'll probably have some time while you're under and coming out of the anesthesia," he presented. "Would you like me to go out and pick anything up? Anything you need at home?"

Mary shook her head, unable to fathom what any of those things might be, but another realization suddenly hit her. For the first time since he'd entered, she met Marshall's eyes, and it was in all seriousness that she forced out what came next.

"You have to go back to work," she insisted, not phrasing it as a question. "There's too much to do…"

Marshall refuted at once, "Stan said to take as long as I needed. You too…"

Mary remained unsatisfied, "I can't keep you from the job and Stan was just saying that…"

"I don't care if he was…"

"Marshall…"

"I _wouldn't_ go even if they made me," he interjected so sharply that Mary shut up without even trying. There was a definite harshness, a no-nonsense quality to his voice that she rarely heard there. "All right?"

Mary really didn't have enough of her wits about her to disagree and instead kept silent. She didn't really want him to leave her anyway, but it was in her nature to turn away the first sign of help. She felt somehow broken with him watching her like this; damaged, like she had messed up too badly to defend herself, whatever Doctor Wolk said. She yearned to wake from this terrible dream; fat feet were better than this.

"If that's what you want," she finally said in a small voice.

Marshall nodded, "Let's get going," he suggested. "They've got a room ready for you and everything; straight in and out. Helen pulled strings."

Mary knew she was expected to be grateful for this, and would've been if she'd had to survive more waiting rooms at Mesa Regional. But right now, she was too riddled with throbbing, dismay, and the crater of a hole in the middle of her chest. What could fill a seeping gap like this? She didn't know where it came from; the guilt was too strong to discern the origin.

"Come on…" Mary murmured, more to herself than to Marshall.

Blindly, she headed for the door, her partner right beside her. She was trying to conceal her face from him; too afraid he might see the wetness start streaming forth if it decided to present itself again. Just as she was about to turn the knob to spill them into the hall, she felt the hand on her shoulder.

It was warm; strong and steady, and it was Marshall's. Startled that he had given in and initiated contact when he knew she hated it; she looked at him against her will; perhaps for an explanation.

The only answer she got was a light, fluttering kiss as he leaned in and pressed against her temple. Mary was so flummoxed she couldn't speak; couldn't even think to scold him. His lips were pillowy, almost fluffy with tenderness against her skin; the touch seemed to linger on her flesh, tickling like a small crowd of fireflies left behind.

She knew her mouth was hanging open, but Marshall powered through, not about to apologize for breaching the gap. He'd held himself off from showering her with affection and words of comfort; he hadn't even mentioned what had happened to her. It was how she liked it, but he couldn't allow her to think he didn't feel the empathy raging within his veins.

He gave a very forthright nod at the look on his friend's face, "Whatever you need."

And Mary was left to ponder more than just the road ahead. Marshall had never kissed her before in her life. The fact that she'd enjoyed it was almost more than she could handle.

XXX

Marshall said almost nothing to Mary the entire drive to the hospital, which only took about fifteen minutes. She knew he stayed soundless because he thought it was what she'd prefer, as she was no fan of mindless chit-chat. But this time, Mary couldn't help noticing how loudly the silence pressed in on her from all sides. It was deafening, filled with the unheard stability of a child's beating heart; of a breath in her ear never to be uttered. All those noises of comfort invaded in the stillness, and they brought Mary despair rather than hope.

She lost Marshall in the waiting room of the maternity ward, for he was not permitted to accompany her while she changed into a gown and waited for someone to lead her down to the operating room. It was the oddest prep for surgery she'd ever experienced. Nobody seemed to find her situation important or distressing. The nurses and attendants simply went about their business; handing her folded cloth and giving instructions. It was as though a miscarriage were deemed mundane in comparison to all else that went on here. There was little compassion in their eyes.

The operating room itself was freezing. Mary wanted to complain; to shout at someone to turn up the heat. She was wearing nothing but the thin gown and goosebumps were rising all over her arms and legs. She hurled epithets inside her head, but none made it out her mouth. She was still and silent, trying to get comfortable in bed. The stirrups presented themselves here, and her feet felt wedged tightly within. Doctor Wolk was already there, conversing with a few nurses while a young one started to prepare an IV for Mary.

"I'll give you one IV line, but two medications…" she explained; her pitch was high, like she was about twelve years old. "This first one should help you relax and the second will be the general anesthesia that will put you to sleep."

Mary suddenly did not want to relax. She wanted to be alert. So much was happening and no one was giving her any information. They bustled around like they did this sort of thing every day, and although that might be the case, shouldn't there be some sort of understanding here? She was confused. How did they expect her to know what was going on?

"Mary, have you eaten much today?" Doctor Wolk called from the foot of the bed; the only friendly face in the room.

"Not really…" she said weakly, trying not to notice the IV drip off to her right. "I had two pieces of toast this morning and…a cupcake…"

She felt her chin begin to wobble. That treat seemed years ago; from a different lifetime. Why had Marshall given it to her when she always stole his food? The thought that she might start weeping over cupcakes was too much to bear.

"And a few French fries," she concluded in a shaking voice that she attempted to make assertive on the tail-end.

"Usually we have you fast for twelve hours before a D and C…" Helen clarified why she'd asked. "But, it's not essential and your stomach's pretty empty. You should be fine."

And what did that even mean – fine? Nothing about this was fine. And as she lay there, shivering and hurting and about to burst into tears, she heard the door behind her open. She wondered who had come to watch the exhibition now, and felt a great flood of relief invade her heart at the sight of Marshall once again.

Contrary to his last visit to her in this state, she was now overjoyed he was by her side. He'd take care of everything, wouldn't he?

"I snuck in under the wire…" he teased lightly, standing right at the top of her head so she had to look at him upside-down. "Hope they don't boot me out."

Mary thought she saw Doctor Wolk stifle a knowing grin at the other end of the room.

"I was instructed not to hang around too long," Marshall went on, seemingly not noticing the physician's covert glances. "But, I just wanted to let you know I'll be waiting when you wake up."

Mary blinked at him, wishing he'd move to one side even a little so she could look at him properly. She was also distracted by the insertion of the IV needle into a vein in her wrist. She grimaced, feeling the prick penetrate her skin; there was a hot sensation like a scorch on her bare flesh. Mary wanted to use her other hand to slap it away, but knew she couldn't.

"It burns…" she whispered tightly to Marshall, shutting her eyes because watching him upside-down like he was made her dizzy.

"I know, but they just got it in…" he revealed in something a little less than triumph. "Think of those folks who have to sit through three or four tries because of their wimpy veins."

'Like yours?' Mary wanted to quip, but didn't. It seemed, however, that Marshall's gaze had traveled to the IV line with Mary's mention, and this notified him of yet another anomaly.

"You're shaking…" he observed. "Are you cold?"

A strange question after she claimed to have experienced a burn, but true nonetheless. She nodded, not wanting to whine, but wanting to warm up too. She felt so exposed with so little on and so many people in the room; she prayed Marshall would not stray to the end of the bed and get a full view of everything. Who knew what he might see?

"Can she have a blanket or something?" Marshall inquired of the nurse who had just secured the IV. "I'm afraid she might start solidifying in ice here in another minute," he smiled at the woman to show he was being funny, but she couldn't miss the directness with which he asked the first question.

The nurse complied with a nod and quick word of agreement, side-stepping Marshall and retreating briefly from the room. Fortunately, the man moved to Mary's right with her exit and she was able to get a better look at him. They'd had enough time apart now that he had obviously changed his tune. He was going to be marginally cheerful and positive, rather than sad.

"You don't have to start ordering everyone around," Mary informed him quietly. "How did you even get in here?"

"I told you…" he proclaimed somewhat boastfully. "Pure stealth and persuasion." He lowered his voice, "And that shiny Marshal star can get you through most sets of double doors."

Mary knew enough about her own misuse of her badge to believe this explanation, but even so. She couldn't believe Marshall had stooped so low. Had he wanted to be with her that badly? Or was he simply that worried about her? That disappointed?

"What are you going to tell Stan about where you went?" she asked, trying to ignore the bright flashes of silver instruments at the foot of her bed. She knew Marshall's time with her was dwindling; he was going to be kicked out in a matter of moments.

"We can concern ourselves with Stan later," he gave a noncommittal response, one that only validated Mary's assumptions.

She swallowed hard, "…Does he know?"

Marshall hesitated only for a minute, but his carefree demeanor definitely faltered. He had the grace to look somewhat ashamed, which didn't really add up with Mary. Stan had likely guessed; Marshall hadn't spilled the beans.

"Yeah, he does," he finally admitted quietly. "I just called him a little bit ago. I didn't give him details; I just said you had to have a quick procedure done – that you'd be out for the rest of the day and I'd be back as soon as I took you home."

Mary sighed slowly through her nose. Her nerves were still jangling, perhaps even more so at the idea that Stan had known or suspected she was with child. But, as she contemplated Marshall's version of events, the nurse returned with a heavy, heated blanket. She draped it over her quivering body and Mary instantly sank into the exhaustion she'd been fighting all day. The heat soaked beneath the surface of her skin; warming her rigid bones and causing her to inch downward so every portion of her was covered.

The presence of the blanket enabled Marshall to bypass the subject of Stan, "Better?" he asked shortly.

Mary nodded, "Yeah."

Her partner had nothing more to offer after that. They coexisted within the stillness once more; punctuated every now and then by a metal clang at the other end of the room. With the sudden heat and closing her eyes, Mary felt herself begin to grow sleepy. It was as though she'd landed on a soft, feathery cloud; when she blinked to get a handle on things, her vision was fuzzy, like there was a filter over her eyes.

"You doing all right?" Marshall's lips seemed to move in slow-motion from his station.

Mary's speech was slurred, "I'm tired…"

"I can only imagine," he dictated, and she thought this might be a compliment. "You look like you're starting to space out," he scrutinized her closely. "I think that might be my cue to get going."

His long, lanky stature seemed blurred at the edges when Mary looked at him; like some mystical being she couldn't reach out and touch – a ghost or a phantom. He belonged in some other world; a world with people who didn't put him through nonsense like this. A world with a woman who could give him the children she knew he desperately wanted. Like Abigail.

"Don't fret over Stan…" he advised when she said nothing else. "He's a good man; he understands."

Mary thought that might be true, but she wasn't sure. Everything seemed vague and woolly right now; she wasn't going to be able to keep her eyes open for much longer.

"What about…Jinx…?" she drawled slowly. "Brandi…"

They hadn't even known. She'd never told them. Mary's stomach lurched at the thought of how excited they would've been, and now they'd be none the wiser. She had denied everyone this pleasure; this joy of a child, including herself. How could she have failed this spectacularly?

"Well, if you ever decide to let Jinx and Brandi in on it, I am sure they will be very sympathetic," he commented evenly. But, it was plain from the way his eyes darted to Doctor Wolk, that he had been sanctioned long enough. Mary only just caught the gesture before hearing him say, "I really have to go. I'll see you after, okay?"

She struggled to keep her common sense about her; fought to have him hang on. She felt terrible enough now that if she hadn't been doped up, she knew she'd be crying her woes to somebody. She couldn't begin to describe how accountable she felt for putting Marshall through the wringer. She'd been going to give this baby away without even considering him – her best friend; a man who adored kids and would've adored Mary's child just as he adored Mary. Now there was no baby to give up at all, and that was her fault as well.

"Marshall…"

She fluttered her lashes, willing herself; pooling her strength.

"What?"

She'd never said this all-too-common phrase to her beloved partner, but now was as good a time as any.

"I'm sorry."

Her ethereal voice sounded peculiar in the spotlighted room, but it was nothing to the look of utter confusion on Marshall's face. The blue of his eyes slanted inward; perplexed didn't begin to describe it.

"Why are you sorry?"

For messing this up. For not being smart enough or cautious enough or happy enough. For wanting to ship off a baby she hadn't wanted to know. For denying him the opportunity to play uncle or father to such a baby. For being selfish and cold and never giving pregnancy a chance. For never giving him a chance. For everything.

"That I made you miss work…" she lied effortlessly. "That I botched your whole day…"

Marshall shook his head side-to-side; the motion was a dizzying effect on Mary's lids, but she didn't look away.

"You are my best friend, inspector," he promised gallantly. "You needed me…"

Did she? Did she need him? She couldn't discern what she needed anymore. The ball lights above her head seemed to be fading and flickering out, like candles in their stubs. Marshall's voice tapered; echoing from further and further away. He might be on a mountaintop for all she knew.

"Marshall…" Helen's tone was a warning one.

"I know…" tinny and distant. "See you later, partner. Remember that I love you."

Mary meant to grab his hand, to say she loved him too; she knew she never had. But, the minute she reached; her fingers fell slack and he, the brightness, and the warmth, was gone.

XXX

**A/N: Yay for Marshall – sad for Mary!**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Thank-you all in spades for the reviews! I cannot believe how popular this story has been – especially since I really drag out the 'first day' over so many chapters. You guys are the best!**

XXX

Mary woke up humiliated and queasy. Not a combination she savored. The nausea was easy to determine, but the embarrassment came as a bit of a surprise. Nonetheless, she felt wholly confident that was the awareness she possessed as she started to come out of the anesthesia.

Every time someone looked at her, she looked away. Every time they came close to check her pulse or fiddle with her IV, her cheeks grew hot. She found herself clearing her throat a lot so she wouldn't have to listen to the way the nurses discussed all her woman's parts like she wasn't even there. It was pitiful.

She felt violated. She thought she'd be happy to have the opportunity to succumb to sleep; to have the professionals do their job so she didn't have to go it alone. She didn't feel that way at all. Mary was suddenly aghast at the idea that they'd been looking all up and down her system while she'd been asleep; they could poke around wherever they wanted. And they'd taken something. Stolen something she'd never be able to get back. The betrayal was palpable in her very muddled brain.

She spoke very little as she weaned her way back to the world of living; only when absolutely necessary. Doctor Wolk told her that if she kept her cookies down for an hour, they would send her home. Mary knew this was not to be viewed as a hurdle she had to jump over, but unfortunately that was exactly what it became. The medication made her so nauseous it was all she could do not to puke her guts out in that convenient bucket right at the side of her bed.

Still, she intended to prove to herself above anyone else that she was made tougher stuff than this day would indicate. She kept her mouth shut; her eyes closed, and managed not to lose any of the very minimal food she'd ingested that day. For the first time since this helter-skelter Thursday had begun, she was the recipient of good fortune. She proved her worth and at almost three o'clock exactly, she was discharged.

She did not see Marshall until she'd already redressed and signed the forms. He attempted casual conversation in the waiting room and as they journeyed to the car, but saw very quickly that her heart wasn't in it. It was a quiet drive home; Mary leaning her head against the cool glass on the passenger window. The sun had shifted behind the clouds, leaving them in a hazy, grey compact of mugginess and humidity. She wondered if it might finally rain.

Predictably, Mary let herself into an empty house, accompanied by Marshall; too weary to insist he stay in the car and drop her off.

"Can I get you anything before I take off?" he proposed neutrally as she dropped her tote and keys near the couch. She was already halfway to the bedroom, Marshall hot on her heels. "I guess you're probably not hungry…"

"No…" she affirmed almost in a whisper. "I feel sick," she even squashed her stomach slightly with her elbows as she walked, as though he might not believe her without such an action.

"You always seem to have an adverse reaction to those intravenous drugs," Marshall noted. "I remember that from when you were shot."

Mary only nodded, stopping between the living room and bedroom, near the bathroom door. Marshall halted as well, waiting to see what to do next. She still had her arms folded over her middle, as though trying to shrink away from her friend. She was sure her skin was still tinged with pink from her ongoing mortification. Marshall pretending perfect strangers hadn't had their fingers where they didn't belong didn't mean it hadn't happened.

"Are you sore?" he pressed, clearly unable to take his eyes off the way she crunched inward.

Another nod, slower this time, refusing to look up at him and focusing, dead center on the planks in the hardwood.

"My stomach hurts."

There was no point in lying and trying to be strong anymore. This bout of misfortunate had blown that persona all to hell.

"That's too bad," Marshall said sweetly. "But, probably not anything to worry about. Did they give you anything to help with the pain?"

"In my bag," Mary answered flatly. "But, they said the side-effects can make you throw up, so I don't want to take them right now," her voice was droning and disturbed with forced-calm that Marshall couldn't possibly buy.

"Smart move," he concluded. "Are you sure there's nothing else you want?"

She wanted plenty. She wanted to go back and examine the last fourteen weeks cover-to-cover to see where she'd gone wrong; where she had put that baby in danger. She wanted to run far away and never talk about this again. She wanted to spill out her anguish to someone who wouldn't judge her. She wanted someone to tell her why she felt so much regret for a child she hadn't even planned to raise.

"I want to go to sleep," she uttered blankly, still fixing her gaze on the ground.

There were dust bunnies in the corners. She hadn't vacuumed in awhile. How perpetually ordinary for this day of all days.

"That sounds like a superb decision," Marshall declared from above her. And then, dropping his act momentarily, "Try to get some rest, okay?"

Mary didn't miss the way his tone altered to a more natural timbre with the second statement. He wasn't blind and could read visual cues better than anyone she knew. He was trying to break her shell; even just a little. And even so, she had to admire how brilliantly he had held off coddling her. She had taught him well over the years.

"Okay…" with her tone smaller still, she flicked her lids upward just a fraction, resting her chin on her chest.

Marshall was peering at her; studying her like she was some magnificent discovery he couldn't get enough of. His cobalt, shiny eyes were so pretty; they prompted such tranquility. Well, on most days anyway.

Now that she'd looked, she found it hard to stray the path. Her own jade orbs; downcast and darkened, kept darting to Marshall every time he spoke.

"I am going to head back to the office for a bit…" he revealed, probably so Mary would know where he was stationed. "Catch up on a few things. But, you call me if you want me to stop by later."

Mary honestly didn't know if she wanted that or not. She was befuddled beyond comprehension, and losing her grip with each passing second. The whites of her eyes began to blaze, tingling in anticipation for the overflow to come. Her nose tickled and stung, like she'd just drank something fizzy. What if she couldn't hold on?

Marshall saw her brush at her nose and blink furiously, albeit across the room and not at him. He didn't want to push her or make her feel worse. Maybe, just for now, if he acted as if Mary would bounce back she would appreciate it. She hated people patting her on the head and patronizing her. He didn't believe for a moment she wasn't upset, but he knew his friend. She liked to keep herself in control.

"Hey…" he vocalized, dropping to a more tender tone. "You okay…?"

He was careful to stay casual as she nodded mutely and hummed something out of closed lips that he couldn't understand. Unfortunately, trying to speak at all, however constricted, did her in. Trickles of tears dribbled down her cheeks; sliding on the slopes. Marshall, crushed to see his friend so unhappy, tried valiantly to make her feel even a little bit better.

"You all right?"

With the nearly repeated phrase, he threw caution to the winds and extended his right arm, pulling Mary in from her back. He used only one hand to anchor her ever-so-briefly inside his chest, jostling her shoulder, not allowing himself to take the hug any further than that.

Mary just stood there, her ear pressed to Marshall's ribcage and dampening his shirt, refusing to return the embrace she only lay locked within by a single arm. The way he roughed her around the shoulders convinced her that he was trying to make them seem like buddies – the best buddies they were. Like they were men who could get by with a pat on a back and a quick word of kindness.

"You've had a hard day," he reinforced. "Sleep will help."

No it won't, Mary thought. It wouldn't and Marshall didn't really feel that way. He was only saying it because it was what he thought she wanted to hear. Well, empty reassurance wasn't what she desired anymore. She needed the real Marshall. The Marshall she always pushed away.

A self-indulgent sob flitted from her mouth, and with it came a whole cascade of wetness. Without a word, she turned around and stood on tiptoe, pulling Marshall next to her, weeping in full over his shoulder. His hands fell into all the right places; holding her back and letting her cry.

"Mary, I'm sorry."

He finally said it. So in tune to her finally accepting her fate, he knew this was the right moment to express his pity.

But, it didn't matter what he said. Mary was past that; barely hearing his apologies.

"It's all my fault…"

She was croaky and feeble but Marshall, who had purposely been avoiding stroking her hair or rubbing her back, suddenly kicked it up a notch. His hand patted her spine with the confession.

"No-no; don't start doing this…" he sounded more melancholy than he had before. "Don't blame yourself. You couldn't help this; it is nobody's fault…"

"You told me to be careful…" she managed thickly, not anywhere near a meltdown but dripping onto Marshall's shoulder nonetheless. "If I had listened…"

"It isn't anything you did wrong," Marshall interrupted, caressing harder now. "You could've stayed in your bed for sixteen weeks and it still might've happened," he continued. "Please don't think you were negligent or anything like that…"

Mary couldn't get away from the way he beseeched her; he'd obviously been afraid of this. He knew her too well not to have seen it coming. But, Mary couldn't help it; she couldn't help thinking it had something to do with her. She was the only one responsible for the kid, and she'd let him down.

She slipped from his grasp, mopping at her streaming eyes; cheeks blotchy and red.

"But last week when I went darting after Dylan…"

"Did you mention that to Helen?" Marshall inquired gently, hands to himself now.

A nod, "She said I'd have known before now, but…"

Her assertion tapered into nothingness, and Marshall seized his opportunity at once. Without any contact whatsoever, he bored his gaze into her watery eyes; he was the perfect mix of affectionate and firm. He was the only person Mary knew that could legitimately embody two opposite ends of the spectrum in a single moment.

"Mary, did anyone tell you what a miscarriage actually is?" he wanted to know. "What actually happens to the baby? Most of the time."

Mary meant to shake her head, but settled for shrugging. She felt this was something she should already know.

"It is a chromosomal defect in the fertilized egg. The egg or the sperm likely did not have the right number of chromosomes, which means the baby can't develop the way it's supposed to," he explained. Mary had thought the scientific nature of his reasoning would make her feel worse, but it didn't. If anything, it became indistinct and dim. "Either that, or the egg didn't implant correctly, or the embryo had an anomaly from the get-go."

In the back of her mind, Mary wondered how Marshall knew all this. She tucked her flyaway hair behind her ears, feeling messy and more humiliated than she had at the onset, if that was even possible.

"You don't have control over your eggs, Mary," any other day, she would've been horrified that he would talk to her about this. "Or chromosomes. There was nothing you could do and it was _nothing_ you caused."

This didn't absolve the woman completely. She voiced another fear that had been lurking in the rear of her brain, one she hadn't even confronted Doctor Wolk with. She'd known this could be the reason she hadn't carried to term, and felt safe articulating it only to Marshall.

Not without shame, "It's because I'm old."

Marshall sighed, got over his concern about what she might say if he ran his hands all over her, and smoothed her hair that had been rumpled in their embrace.

"That's a factor; it's not necessarily the cause," he stated evenly. "And you are not old," he added valiantly as an afterthought.

Mary knew he was trying to be complimentary, but it when it came to pregnancy, she was bordering on ancient. Hadn't Doctor Wolk identified her as 'advanced maternal age?'

"I'm thirty-nine," she reminded him darkly. "Too old to have a baby."

"I'm forty-two," Marshall offered blandly. "Does that mean I can't have one either?"

Mary shocked herself by letting out a shaky laugh; the most strident and cruel sound that reverberated in the house. It was accompanied by the last of her tears; synching the chuckle at its seams and pulling it in tight. Silencing the tiny bit of happiness she'd allowed to enter.

Marshall grinned dejectedly at seeing her compress it so quickly, biting hard on her lip as though to sequester it within. She'd just remembered in her delirium that her belly was aching; although dully and not at all compared to what she'd been through that morning. Her insides continued to churn, reminding her at each minute what she was facing.

"It's not fair that I feel like this…" Mary moaned, thinking if she was going to have out with it, she might as well go all the way.

Marshall frowned, "Why would you say that?"

Chest heaving from pure emotion, Mary clarified, "Because it's so selfish…"

"Mary, no it isn't…"

"I wasn't even going to keep this kid!" she burst, emphatically rather than with ample volume. "I cannot sit here and pretend that I missed out…!"

"Do not be ridiculous," Marshall's razor-sharp tone had returned, meaning he wanted Mary to shut up and listen. "You have as much right to be upset as any other woman going through something like this. Miscarriage can be devastating; it's justification for mourning is not as widely accepted as it should be."

That word – devastating – seemed to loiter in Mary's subconscious. She did not wanted to be devastated or distraught, but Marshall's selection had been the perfect term. That was exactly what she was. She'd fallen down a manhole cover and was screaming for someone to throw her line to pull her out. And in spite of the life preserver Marshall extended; it only put her feet on firm ground. It didn't take away the way she seemed to have hit her head and damaged her heart on the way down.

"Devastating…" she murmured without thinking about what she was doing; not thinking she would pass her guilt on to Marshall.

"I'm sorry," he repeated at once. "I didn't mean to make things worse."

He could hardly do that, Mary thought. It wasn't possible when he was the only one keeping her afloat. His life preserver and all.

"I didn't even know if it was a boy or a girl…" she vocalized quietly out of nowhere, ignoring Marshall's defense. She was back to staring off into nothingness once more; lids catching the murky sky outside her front window. "What am I supposed to call it?"

"Well…" Marshall didn't consider for long, wanting to be understanding. "Did you ever have an instinct?"

She wasn't sure she wanted to say. Instincts. Weren't those feelings mothers possessed? Real mothers? Mothers that kept their babies safe and warm?

"I thought…" she slurred, making herself concentrate on the grayness of the clouds. "A boy…maybe…"

Her partner clearly wanted her back in present day with him, miserable as she might be. Far beyond fretting about laying a hand on her now, his fingers found her shoulder and compressed. She started and landed on his face. The smile he fed her was physically painful; he was trying so hard.

"Then a boy," he bobbed his head with poise. "Nobody would know better than you."

Mary doubted this, and began to wonder why she had even asked. She likely would not be 'calling' the child anything anyway, except to Marshall, as no one else had been aware of her former state-of-being. Again, she thought of Jinx, Brandi, and Mark; left out of the loop, shuffled in the dark because Mary had been embarrassed or didn't fancy herself a mother. She couldn't decide, even now, if she wished they'd known the truth or not.

Seeing her green eyes go lost in thought, Marshall chose this as the time to wrap things up.

"I want you to get some rest," he reminded her from earlier. "You've earned it. Don't dwell, inspector. I hate to think of you brooding about something that was out of your hands."

Mary wanted to disagree – and adamantly, at that – but couldn't. He had been too thoughtful and she was too run-down to give into her own petty aspirations. She settled for a nod; nose still dripping slightly, wishing she had more than a sleeve to wipe it on.

"Thank-you for your help today…" she muttered half-heartedly, heart thudding uncomfortably at all she'd put him through. "I really appreciate it."

"Think nothing of it," Marshall declared; heroic as ever. "I'm headed back to work. I'll talk to you later, all right?"

She consented for what felt like the millionth time that day, and was the first to turn and retreat to her bedroom; before Marshall had even made for the front door. But, the leeway from her friend was all she needed. The security of her bed and sweats was calling after a day of unpadded cots and hospital gowns.

But, even as she crawled under the covers in a tank top and drawstring pants; she couldn't succumb to sleep. Her eyes itched with tiredness, her throat was clogged, her belly was sore, and yet her mind was spinning far too feverishly for her to close down.

She yearned for being able to escape; to leave everything about this nightmare in the rearview. Her cheeks were sticky from tears she continued to shed, dampening her pillow; likely leaking into her hair. She thought of the son she might've had. She thought of how Marshall would've taken to him, had she not sent him off to strangers. Marshall and his compliance was the only thing that brought her any measure of comfort.

And it wasn't until she heard the front door open and close thirty minutes later – a half hour from when he'd said he was leaving – that she was able to close her eyes and drift off into darkness.

XXX

**A/N: This was a chapter I saw in my head from the very beginning, so I hope everyone enjoys it!**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: I am Mary-less in this chapter, but I know that many of my readers love a good dose of Marshall. And he needs some winding down too. ;)**

XXX

Marshall hit rush hour traffic on his way back to the Sunshine Building, which meant it was looking like dusk when he swiped his badge at the double doors. The cloud cover and colorless quality to the atmosphere made it appear later than it was. He thought he'd heard thunder rolling in the distance, but figured it was way out west; caused by the heat. The flatlands had been dry as a bone for weeks.

He was surprised to find that Stan was still working in his office when he arrived; Delia was finishing up as well. While Marshall was happy to see his boss, he couldn't help feeling ill at ease with Delia there. He liked her very much and had the utmost reverence for her as an inspector. But, he wasn't sure Mary would enjoy the events of the day being broadcast all over the department. She'd seemed strangely embarrassed after the surgery.

To avoid being confronted by Delia, Marshall took the safest route and decided to inform Stan that he'd returned. He was writing rather intently at his desk, and didn't appear to have heard the door. The taller of the two knocked lightly, as he'd done hours before, and a bald head inclined upward to meet the sound.

"I'm back…" Marshall announced, though it was obvious at this point. "I'm going to finish those forms I was working on before lunch and see if I can catch D.C. before they all head home," a glance at his watch. "I hope you and Delia didn't have to head out into the field since you were two short this afternoon."

To his bewilderment, Stan appeared mildly exasperated. He put down his pen and jerked his head at the entrance.

"Marshall, shut the door," he instructed immediately.

Feeling sure this simply had to do with discussing Mary in private – because Marshall couldn't take any more bad news – he did as told, never one to disobey Stan. The hatch made a creak and a thud as it swung into the frame. Stan had his blinds drawn halfway already, keeping out the eavesdroppers.

"Have a seat…" he indicated a spare chair near his desk. "I've got a minute."

Marshall sat, trying to appear relaxed. Stan so rarely made him nervous. He had a sudden, minor inkling of how Mary might've felt all day with her trepidation. He crossed his legs and waited for Stan to go on; the latter leaned back in his seat and loosened the tie at his neck.

"So…" he began placidly. "What happened today? Is Mary okay?"

Marshall exhaled, trying to remind himself of the easiness of this question. There was only one response, after all; Stan wasn't looking for specifics. This wasn't an interrogation. Nevertheless, since both he and Mary had assumed Stan wasn't aware of the pregnancy, it was odd to speak to him now as though he'd been conscious all along.

"Mary is fine," he replied truthfully, stretching his legs as he did so. "Shaken and slightly overwhelmed, but fine."

This was a clue for Stan, who picked up on it at once, "What is this procedure she had to have? Did the baby make it out all right?"

Marshall couldn't stop himself from sighing again; knowing Mary would hate to think of them discussing this. But, it was a necessary evil now that the chief had been let in on the secret. Deep down, Marshall knew she respected Stan enough that she would concede he deserved honesty.

"She had a miscarriage," he finally admitted dully. "The procedure was a D and C; they put her under to remove the excess tissue in her uterus."

Stan managed to bury his feelings of awkwardness in favor of this heartbreak, but Marshall didn't miss the way he cringed; squeamish at the thought.

"So, she lost the baby?" he checked to make sure, but the somber tone of his voice convinced Marshall he already knew the answer.

"Yes," the other man answered shortly.

Stan took his turn at sighing, rubbing his shiny head; roving over the pate, seemingly at a loss for words. Marshall had nothing better to offer, allowing Stan to process the circumstances.

"Poor kid," the older eventually said, referring to Mary. "What a day she's had."

"Tell me," Marshall gave a bitter laugh, not trying to be amusing in the least. To divert from the subject of the miscarriage, he decided more was in order than just the rundown, "Stan, I'm sorry I didn't fess up about her being pregnant in the first place, I just…"

Stan held up a hand to silence him and shook his head, "Don't go there," he ordered. "It wasn't really your secret to tell. I know how Mary can be when she wants to keep something under wraps."

Marshall shrugged feebly, "She was just so determined – so worried that if people knew she was pregnant they would treat her differently," he tried to justify. "You know Mary. She wants to be one of the guys."

"Something tells me she didn't want this though," Stan commented forebodingly, still fiddling with his tie. Flashing his inspector a significant look, "How did she take things today?"

Marshall considered before responding. In some ways, Mary had behaved quite unnaturally when you reflected on her usual attitude. She hadn't shouted at anyone or debated the diagnosis. She'd been jittery, but also strong. She'd been shuffled from one corner to another and had taken it mostly in stride. Aside from her tears once she'd arrived at home, she'd acted exactly as Marshall would expect – resilient and robust. She did what she had to do; end of story.

"I was proud of her," Marshall eventually conceded; the most honest answer he could provide. "She kept it together like a pro. Except that she blames herself for losing the baby…" he tacked on the back end. "Which doesn't really come as an enormous shock, but still."

His boss wagged his head side-to-side, "Jesus…" he remarked, sounding like Mary herself. "This thing is going to be hard enough without her adding guilt on top of everything else."

"Well, I tried to talk to her," Marshall interjected, running his fingers through his hair in agitation just thinking about it. "I have misgivings about how much it helped."

Stan was slightly shaky when it came to emotions and decided to segue into something else. He rolled his chair forward and folded his arms over his desk, peering at Marshall with scrutiny. His brown eyes seemed darker than usual in the dim light of the office, and slightly skeptical. The inspector endured without trying to look wary.

"It may not seem important now…" Stan started to say. "But, do you know who the father of this baby was? Is Mary seeing somebody?"

The look on Stan's face suddenly clued Marshall into who he thought it might be. A bizarre sort of jolt shot through his heart at having an inkling about this. Stan didn't really believe Mary and Marshall had been together. Did he?

"No, it was Mary's ex-husband – Mark," he revealed bleakly.

"Mary has an ex-husband?"

"Well, he's not an ex-husband in the typical sense," Marshall intended to clear this up. "Mary was really young – seventeen, she said. They were only married for a few days; he's a couple years older than she is."

"And he was here?" Stan raised his eyebrows.

"Yup…" Marshall murmured slowly. "He was in town for some sort of convention; he sells solar panels. Anyway, I guess he stopped in to visit Brandi and she arranged their little rendezvous," he didn't mean to sound so sour about it. "Dinner turned into dancing, as I understand it," he finished metaphorically.

Stan emitted a chortle, "I'm guessing she didn't tell him what came of the reunion."

"I don't think so," Marshall whispered, more to himself than to Stan, deciding not to divulge Mary's original plan of adoption. "I met him; Abigail and I had dinner with the pair of them. He seemed like a nice guy. Sure looked at Mary like she was a fox."

This made Stan laugh for real, and forced Marshall to replay what he'd said in his mind. He supposed it did sound odd, but he hadn't been thinking straight. It bothered him on some weird level that Mary had-had this part of her past he'd never known about; he'd been partners with her for eight years before she'd told him about Mark. Not to mention the fact this Mark would've, for better or worse, changed her life forever if the pregnancy had been viable.

"Well, this has been quite an afternoon for you too," Stan voiced in lieu of Marshall's strange statement. "Feel free to leave the forms until tomorrow; they can wait."

"No, I should probably get cracking…" Marshall disagreed, thinking he'd darted away from the chief far too much as of late. "It will give me some time to figure out what I'm going to tell Abigail when she asks how my day went."

A rolling sensation swooped through Marshall's stomach at the thought of Abigail – more specifically, the thought of Abigail having knowledge of what had happened to Mary. There was no question; he couldn't confide in her. Though he tried to deny it, he knew his best friend didn't care for his significant other. He avoided mulling it over at all costs, not wanting to deal with how those relationships might merge if he and Abigail grew closer.

"That shouldn't be too hard," Stan was saying. "You keep WITSEC information in the vault all the time." And noticing Marshall's blank face, "Right?"

He shook his head, not wanting Stan to think he was disclosing the undercurrents of their job, of all things.

"No, right."

Stan accepted that and picked up his pen once more, ready to resume filling out his paperwork.

"Any idea when Mary will be back on the job?" he asked absently. "Not to pressure her or anything; I would assume she needs some time…"

Marshall stood up, stretching his hands over his head and the kinks in his legs. Stan looked peculiarly far away from him now that he was upright.

"I wouldn't assume much when it comes to Mary," he was forced to admit. "I wouldn't be surprised if she wants to burst back onto the scene tomorrow; be prepared."

"I'm usually not when Mary is involved, but you know…" a scoff. "Roll with the punches."

As Marshall stood there, waiting to exit, he went over his last hypothesis a little more thoroughly. It would be just like Mary to pretend nothing had gone on; to try and resume business as usual. Part of him loved this about her; she was as durable as they came. On the other hand, he knew it was unhealthy for her to shut herself in, especially if she felt as much regret as she claimed. He was hard-pressed to determine what he hoped for in the days to come.

"Don't go burning the midnight oil or anything, inspector…" Stan said with a hint of authority, flicking on his desk lamp now that it was growing dark outside. "Finish what's necessary and head for home."

"I'll do my best," the other man swore, grateful to have a supervisor as understanding as Stan.

Nothing else to say, he proceeded for his own desk, earning a vague wave of his hand from Stan in farewell. To both his pleasure and surprise, Delia stayed where she was across the room and didn't fish for gossip right away. Marshall sat down and woke up his computer, taking an involuntary sip of coffee, which was cold and disgusting from having been left out all day.

His inbox was flooded with e-mails, all of which he was too spent to read. He was starting to think Stan was right; nothing much was going to be accomplished this evening. He was saved by the bell when his cell phone sounded in his breast pocket; he hadn't even taken it out.

Turning it the right way, he saw at once it was the aforementioned girlfriend – Abigail, probably asking if he would be getting off soon, and did he want to have dinner.

Resigned, he did pick up, and tried to remember how much he cared about Abigail. She wasn't second-best to Mary or anything like that.

"Good evening, detective…" he said smoothly, now with a good excuse not to bother with work. "Done for the day?"

"So they say, sugar bug," she replied merrily; chipper as ever, which was a glaring contrast in Marshall's current climate. "But, you never know. I am always ready the minute they sound the alarm."

"Well, I hope it is a quiet night for you…" he hoped the same for himself. "I may be an hour or so yet," he might as well admit it up front. "It's been a busy day."

"If you must…" Abigail sang from the other end, not the least bit offended; one of the things Marshall liked about her. "But, can you take a break for a hot second? Give those gorgeous eyes a rest."

Marshall chuckled weakly, rubbing his eyes with his hand. Maybe this wouldn't be too bad; it didn't mean he had to lie. Abigail was perfectly cognizant of the fact that he couldn't discuss work, and work included Mary. He was completely willing to listen to the tales of Albuquerque PD if it got him off the hook.

"I suppose I have time to spare," he conceded. "What was on your agenda today?"

"Oh, drug bust…grand theft auto…" she shared in a breezy voice. "Nothing special," following up with a rather cackling laugh.

Marshall tried to do the same, the mention of 'grand theft auto' taking him back to Brandi's dilemma at Alpert's Autoplex. He suddenly felt a twinge of regret for blaming Mary for not liking Abigail. It wasn't really her fault. Arresting her baby sister didn't exactly get them off on the right foot, and it took his partner awhile to warm up to people besides.

"Sounds like a winner," Marshall proclaimed in light of Abigail's events. "Was my luxurious lady out there all by her lonesome or did she have backup?" he didn't like to think of any of the women in his life facing bullets alone, though he knew all were quite capable of handling themselves.

"Wouldn't you like to know," Abigail batted back coyly; Marshall could almost see her fluttering her eyelashes. "I am here safe and sound – that's _all_ you need to know."

Marshall sighed, leaning forward with his hands on his knees, trying to sound apologetic with his next words.

"Well, I am sorry we can't get together tonight…" he told her. "Perhaps we can engage in a romantic tryst this weekend."

Although Abigail giggled feverishly at Marshall's flowering phrasing and promises, he had to wonder in the back of his mind why he had said such a thing. He knew already he would want to spend Saturday and Sunday checking up on Mary, whether she let him or not. She didn't have anyone else to confide in; not with her mother and sister oblivious to everything going on.

"I'd love that," his girlfriend declared, making the man feel even worse for an avowal he likely wouldn't keep. "I'll mark your name on my calendar," her southern twang more prevalent than ever.

"Better not let the big wigs catch a glimpse of that…" he teased lightly. "They'll wonder why you're fooling around with the string bean from the Sunshine Building."

More giggles. Marshall thought it was nice to hear such happiness after such a dark day, but it only reminded him of how far apart his two worlds were. He didn't consider it treachery not to pass on something of this magnitude to Abigail. After all, she and Mary really didn't know each other all that well; Mary had seen to that. But still, if he was going to be running out and making sure his friend was well-adjusted, Abigail was going to wonder why. Mary projected herself as wholly independent. It wouldn't mesh.

"You are too much, Marshall Mann," the woman exhaled girlishly in response to his joke. "I better get off the phone before everyone sees me blushing."

"An excellent observation," he agreed. "I'll give you a call soon."

"Not if I call you first."

He hung up with somewhat of a forced grin on his face, which made little sense considering Abigail couldn't see him anyway. He could be as unconvincing as he wanted when it came to his features, and the detective need never know. But, Marshall knew it was his moral compass trying to play along for the benefit of an entirely lovely woman.

He wasn't lying. He would tell himself that over and over. In the end, it didn't erase the ill-at-ease feeling lingering in the pit of his stomach.

Stan must've noticed that he was looking unoccupied both in thoughts and actions, because he left his office and joined him. Marshall figured this was so he could be ordered to go home once more.

"Who was that?" he asked, tipping his head at the cell phone still held slack in Marshall's fingers.

The second shook his head, trying to get with the program, "Nobody. Abigail."

Oh my. He would have to be careful not to say _that_ again. Abigail was not nobody.

Fortunately, Stan didn't seem bothered, "How's it going with you two?" he inquired, leaning a hand on the corner of Marshall's desk, visibly not endeared to the idea of work either. "You've been together a couple of months now; is that right?"

Marshall couldn't help feeling touched about Stan making an effort to acknowledge his employee had a personal life – a life outside of Mary – but his union with Abigail was difficult to describe. And getting more difficult with each passing day.

"Yeah, since January or so…" he disclosed, attempting to sound offhand. "Favorably enough, I suppose. I don't know – it has been some time since I acquired a significant other. I fear I'm a bit out of practice."

"I doubt that," Stan reassured him kindly. "You and Finkel had a thing going there for awhile, right?"

"Not hardly," Marshall refuted. "Her weeping ex called halfway through coffee and that was all the fat lady sang – so to speak."

Stan avoided that botched courtship and continued, "Well, but Abigail seems like a real catch," he offered. "You're having reservations?"

Marshall didn't think he could really solidify his worries when it came to his love life, especially when they had only swum to the surface so very recently. His qualms weren't very valid, and he couldn't imagine anyone accepting them as such. She simply forced him to examine a part of himself he'd long since tried to bury.

"Mary doesn't really like her," he finally said bluntly.

Stan immediately waved this away, "Does Mary like anyone?"

Marshall appreciated the tease, even given the fact that Mary had been through the wringer that day. However, his companion for the night obviously sensed he had put ideas in the other's head, and hurried to make his point known.

"I'm just saying…" the bald drove forward. "Don't let Mary dictate how you feel…"

Easier said than done.

"If she sees that you really care about Abigail, she'll come around," he insisted. "I would say that today is the perfect example."

Marshall frowned, too fatigued to decode, "How do you mean?"

Stan was just a shadow now. The sun had crept out from behind the thick mass of grey only to set beneath the Sandia Mountains. It cast the shorter in a purple kind of haze, making him appear indistinct and formless – like a spirit that wouldn't be there when you tried to reach out and grab it. Whatever he was, Marshall knew he had fallen into a bout of good luck indeed to have him here to unburden himself. Playing protector to Mary, however invigorating, took a lot out of him as well.

"Marshall, she trusted you above anyone else with what she looked at as a gargantuan secret…" his voice was soft and comforting; fatherly.

Would Marshall ever become the father figure he envisioned Stan as? He was afraid that day would never come.

"You don't think it says something that you were the _only_ one she told she was pregnant?"

Marshall didn't enjoy having to correct Stan, but this was one of those times where it was essential. Gaze cast across the room to the little round table in the kitchenette, he pictured a night not unlike this one. Dark and murky; a world of uncertainty displayed, ruthless and brutal, in front of two partners' eyes.

"_Expecting? With child? In a family way?"_

"_How'd you know?"_

"She didn't tell me she was pregnant…" he whispered, faraway and distant. "I told her."

XXX

**A/N: I have done so many chapters in other stories where Mary is without Marshall that I decided I needed to give the man his due here. Hopefully you enjoyed!**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Glad you all enjoyed reading Marshall and Stan (if not Abigail, but I could've expected that!)**

XXX

Mary woke up for the second time this horrific Thursday feeling woozy and very gloomy; it was as though her head were full of a dense fog. And her head, now that she'd thought about it, was pounding fiercely, like someone had whacked her with a two-by-four. The ache throbbed right at her temples and between her eyes; nearly as vicious as her stomach pains from that morning. She could only hope this was a side-effect of the anesthesia, and was instantly grateful she had not taken the pills given to her on departure from the hospital.

Mary wasn't sure how long she'd been asleep, but it was dark outside now. She usually drew her curtains before bed, but as she'd crashed in the middle of the afternoon, they were still open, revealing a brilliant silver moon hanging low in the sky. Depressed and dim, she had every intention of rolling over and going back to sleep until she heard someone moving around in her kitchen.

Who was in her house? Had Marshall returned to play nursemaid? The gap under her door had light spilling under it, meaning whoever it was had taken care to poke around so they could see properly. Although Mary wanted to remain sequestered in bed, she faced the grim reality – she needed to confront whoever was out there if she didn't want a visitor in her bedroom. In any case, she had to pee and the clock told her it was almost 7:30. She'd been out for almost four hours – unprecedented on every other day of the year.

And so, with great revulsion, she lumbered her way out of bed. Her head was insanely heavy; like she would have to work at holding it up all the way. Leaving the shelter of her blankets made her chilly and she unearthed a jacket that zipped up to cover her tank-top. With definite unease, she meandered into the hall, trying not to hurl at the migraine the blazing lights caused.

It was not Marshall in her kitchen, as she'd suspected. It was Jinx, sipping from a glass of tomato juice as though she lounged about in her child's home on every evening. She sat at the island, perfectly blasé and thumbing through a magazine. Seeing her there was agonizingly familiar to Mary; like the ghastly day she'd been through had really been a nightmare and nothing more.

"Mom…?" she croaked from her spot in the living room, startled by how squeaky her voice sounded. "What are you doing here?"

Jinx instantly tossed her gossip rag to the side and dusted her hands on her jeans, alerting Mary to the bag of chips sitting nearby. Her mother's eyes were alive with prosperity; a richness that said she was beyond eager to be of service. It was being of service to _what_ that had Mary so confused.

"Honey, you're awake…" she crooned sympathetically. "Come here; come and see me…" she broadened her grasp and beckoned Mary with three fingers.

Utterly perplexed, Mary did as told, but was extremely cautious not to give anything away. What did Jinx think was going on? It was an instinct that made the daughter want to cover up her previously chubby form. While she was still lumpy across her midsection, the jacket and stretchy pants hid whatever was left for the most part.

"My poor baby girl…" Jinx gave a mock pout as Mary neared, shuffling in her socks. "Marshall told me."

He hadn't. He wouldn't.

"Told you what?" Mary whispered fearfully.

"When you didn't return Brandi's calls after lunch, she got worried, so she called Marshall…" the mother explained, Mary trying to brush aside her sister's obnoxious persistence. "And he said…"

"He said what?" unable to help herself, timbre rising semi-hysterically.

"That you were sick, angel."

Sick. Sick.

If Jinx hadn't been watching her so closely, Mary would've breathed the sigh of relief that flowed through her chest and down into her stomach, bobbing pleasantly with serene liberation. How could she have doubted Marshall? He never would've tattled about something like this without her consent.

"Oh…" she settled for moaning softly at the realization. "Yeah."

"You must be feeling just terrible to miss work, sweetheart," Jinx assumed without delay. "I know how important it is to you."

Mary had no idea how to respond. Her mother was clearly alight with the idea that she might be able to aide her child while she was under-the-weather. In her more sober years, she had become nearly obsessed with establishing her merit as a 'regular' parent. Mary supposed this included tending to a sick kid, but even so. She didn't identify with the look of pure satisfaction on Jinx's face.

"Now, tell me what's the matter," the brunette segued, taking it upon herself to twirl a strand of Mary's very matted hair. "Are you nauseous? You probably aren't hungry…" exactly what Marshall had assumed that afternoon.

The reply was different this time however, "I…I am actually…" she confessed without really thinking. "I really haven't eaten all day…"

She suddenly realized why her head might be hammering so violently. She hadn't had a morsel of food since the French fries.

"Would you like me to make you something?" Jinx suggested keenly. "Maybe some soup or toast…?"

"Not…not toast…" Mary was forced to turn that down rather timidly, thinking of her breakfast.

"No, the butter might upset your stomach…" Jinx suddenly decided.

"But, if you have time to make soup…"

She was feeling strangely obliging. While Jinx's presence had thrown her off momentarily, she was suddenly warming to the idea of someone to take care of her; someone who would do whatever she said without questions. Jinx obviously wasn't going to pry, for a change, as she thought Mary was so ill. It made her wish she'd used such an excuse years before.

"Of course I have time…" the elder proclaimed. "I don't know how good it will be; I'm not much of a chef," she giggled embarrassedly, her cheeks pinking.

"It'll be fine," Mary found herself telling her, alarmed at her own kindness. "Thank-you…"

And in a gesture that the ailing one felt certain must belong to someone else, she actually reached out and offered Jinx the most awkward of hugs she possessed. It was degrading, how alien she was with initiating affection. Jinx was visibly surprised and didn't have time to return the favor, which left Mary just standing there looking foolish, with her arms only halfway extended. She was so much taller than her mother; she imagined they were quite a sight.

Nonetheless, Jinx was both impressed and touched.

"Oh, honey…" she remarked in pure astonishment, giving her a gentle pat on the back before stepping away. "It's no trouble, Mary; I promise."

The blonde nodded, trying to appear self-assured as she looked into Jinx's sparkling green eyes, not unlike her own. She hadn't known what had come over her. It was just cathartic – to have someone here just when she needed it most.

"Bless your heart, honey; you are sick…" she poked a finger into her daughter's cheek. "Look at your eyes; they're all red."

She just didn't know that was from crying.

"You go on back to your room and rest; I'll fix you something light."

Mary nodded; glad she could appear downtrodden and have a plausible excuse. Part of her wanted to tell Jinx what she'd been through, but was too afraid of the reaction she would receive. Jinx might be pissed that her daughter had denied her the chance to savor grandmotherhood in the short space of time she would've had to bask. It was equally possible she would act so distraught about the miscarriage, Mary would feel even worse.

"Go on, go on…" Jinx urged, flapping her hands wildly in the direction of the bedroom. "I'll be along in a minute; you relax."

Nothing better to do, Mary turned her heel and retreated from whence she had come, still feeling sluggish and slightly achy. That same sense of violation still lingered somewhere in the depths of her heart, but her mind was far too preoccupied to discern what that was about right now.

She had just climbed back beneath her tangled covers when her Blackberry buzzed on the bedside table. Groping and glancing at the ID, she expected Brandi but no sale – this time it actually was Marshall. She hit the talk button and settled as comfortably as possible back into her pillows.

"Hi…" she greeted him dismally.

"Hi. Did I wake you?" the need to cater became prominent right away.

"No," she replied honestly. "I got up and around a little bit ago," it had only been a few minutes, but so what?

"How you feeling?" Marshall egged her on. "Did the nap suffice?"

Mary sighed, "If you mean physically, then I guess so. I have a really bad headache though; I think I need to eat something."

"Do you want me to stop by?" Marshall asked instantly. "I can pick you up some dinner."

Mary was suddenly pleased about Jinx's appearance, because it meant she could shove Marshall away. He'd done enough for her in one day, not to mention seen more of her than she wanted anybody to view. He might listen and go home if he knew there was someone keeping her company.

"No, its okay…" she voiced, albeit somewhat tiredly and unconvincingly. "Jinx is here."

"Oh man…" Marshall groaned, losing all sense of decorum; something he rarely did in front of Mary. "Are you angry with me?" he sounded nervous. "She and Brandi ganged up on me after I left your place. I thought if I gave them an answer, they wouldn't think I was making up some story…" he rationalized before Mary could get a word in edgewise. "And, I'm sure you are not ready divulge the whole tale. Is it all right…that I said you were ill?"

Mary found herself grinning almost against her will at how valiantly he was working to both help her and defend his position. By the same token, she was astounded that he thought she'd be mad at him after his nobility when it came to today.

"It's fine…" she assured him, coming off slightly bewildered. "I'm sorry they bothered you."

"That's not what I meant," Marshall corrected himself once more. "I just…didn't want you to think I'd given them a reason to come over and fuss over you. I know how you despise such things."

Never mind that he hoped fervently Mary would let the babying commence whether she liked it or not. She needed comfort, one way or another, even if that _wasn't_ the reason Marshall had lied about her condition.

"It's not so bad…" she whispered in a faraway voice. "Jinx is pretty good at being a mother when she makes the effort."

A stab like a knife seemed to pierce Mary's soul at saying that out loud. Who was she to judge a good mother or a bad one? What did she know about such things? Nothing; that was what. Less than nothing. Jinx had managed to keep her offspring alive, which was more than Mary had done.

"Not that I'd know," she added her thoughts with a cold chuckle.

Marshall remained silent for a minute, obviously trying to decide how best to proceed, sensing they had reached murkier waters. Mary sounded a little better than she had that afternoon, although still quite dejected. He didn't want to assume she had recovered in the least; he needed to be fair and treat her like anyone else who'd suffered such a loss.

"Well, you know about taking care of people…" he bestowed neutrally. "You are more skilled than anyone I know in that department."

Mary was uncharacteristically moved that he'd found such a truthful way to refute her low self-esteem. Most people would just tell her not to be so hard on herself and move on, but Marshall worked to verify she had expertise or something to be proud of, one way or another. Her throat went scratchy at the thought, the redness in her eyes burning more easily now that they'd had so much practice.

"Thanks," she managed rather thickly, knowing her friend would pick up on the change of mood. "I'm not sure you're right. But, thanks."

She was certain he'd drive onward with more examples of her value, but he diverted to a joke instead – which was almost better, even if she couldn't entirely appreciate it.

"So, you're the only one who gets to be right all the time?" he inquired smoothly. "Doesn't seem fair."

When Mary didn't laugh and merely chewed on her thumbnail, Marshall gave her a moment to gather herself, though mostly to no avail. She didn't want to blubber over the phone, but her eyes were already watering, and knew if she spoke it would start the flood all over again. It made her irate and frustrated and distressed all at once; practically a lethal combination.

"Mare, did I say something…?" Marshall eventually probed. "Something I shouldn't have? You never have trouble giving it to me straight, so go for it."

"No…" she whispered vaguely. "I don't know what my problem is. I'm being stupid…" she swiped at her eyes in case Jinx came back.

"You are in no way stupid," he insisted firmly. "You're a little bit lost; it's only been a few hours. Give it some time."

"I'm not the most patient person in the world," Mary scoffed, leaking unashamedly since no one was watching.

"This will definitely test your prowess, I concede," Marshall stated calmly. "You know I'm here though, right?"

He wanted to make sure; couldn't stand the idea that Mary might be too self-conscious or internalized to rely on him. After all, she'd been operating the same way for a long time. He could only figure it would be worth it to remind her over and over there was no giving up on his part.

"I wouldn't say that in front of Abigail…" his partner quipped in a constricted voice. "Doesn't she have first dibs?"

Marshall was quick in spite of being thrown off guard, "This isn't a contest. I'm not going anywhere…"

But Mary hardly heard his rebuttal, because Jinx had knocked softly and eased through the door, carrying a tray of steaming soup and what looked like finger sandwiches on a tray. This justified her saying goodbye to Marshall, not wanting to add Abigail and her place in his life to her list of issues.

Jinx was smiling in a matronly way, and Mary tried to offer something similar, but knew it came off rather tight-lipped since her mind was still with Marshall.

"I'm gonna go…" she relayed distractedly. "I'll talk to you tomorrow."

Marshall couldn't help being caught unaware at the switch, but it wasn't so unlike Mary and he accepted.

"Okay," he agreed. "Get some more sleep. Hang in there."

"Right," was all Mary could offer before hanging up and sliding her phone next to the lamp, hoping her raccoon eyes didn't tip off her mother for a second time.

She fed her a feeble smile, dripping and disconsolate that would fool no one. No one except Jinx, who was too wrapped up in her own charitable acts to notice much from far away.

"I wasn't sure the soup would be enough…" she began in a sugary voice. "Or if it's even eatable," she added with a flighty chuckle. "So, I made you a few other things…"

Now that she was close enough, Mary saw that the tray was laden with the aforementioned soup; what appeared to be Campbell's chicken noodle, something she doubted even Jinx could screw up. There was also a glass of either Sprite or 7-Up, fizzing and crackling against three ice cubes. But, it was the items on the plate to the left of bowl that heightened Mary's curiosity.

"Half-assed sandwiches?" she whispered tentatively, eyeing the odd mixture of condiments between the bread. "You didn't."

"Afraid so, darling…" Jinx attempted to look remorseful, but her daughter wasn't entirely sold. "Although, you do have more to work with than I did back in the day – not as half-assed as they used to be."

Mary gave another meager grin, not really zeroing in on the array of pickles and turkey with perhaps tomato in-between. She doubted she would eat them; the soup was the only thing she felt brave enough to try. Although her stomach was only marginally sore now, it was still slightly cramped and she didn't want to make it worse. After almost an entire day of unbearable pain, she wasn't willing to take chances.

"Who was on the phone?" her mother asked pleasantly when Mary had nothing to say to her concoction.

A shrug, "Just Marshall," she shared. "Checking up on me like I don't know how to take care of myself."

It was a heartless statement, one Mary regretted the instant she said it. She would've been nowhere today without Marshall, as she'd reminded herself only minutes before. Why did she fall into such a habit of not giving him any credit?

"But, he adores you sweetheart; you know that…" Jinx sang predictably. "You're his best friend."

"Something like that," Mary muttered to close the discussion.

"Oh, silly…" the brunette waved an impatient hand as the tray shifted onto Mary's lap, hoping she didn't dump the whole thing on the floor. She spotted her child's droopy eyes and their leakage with the pass-off, "Honey, your eyes are watering; you must be miserable."

Mary gave a timely sniff while Jinx yanked a few tissues from a crumpled box underneath the nightstand. For one wild moment, Mary thought her mother was going to attack her with Kleenex, but fortunately she did not go that far. She allowed them to flutter into Mary's lap, much as Doctor Wolk had done after she'd received the news.

"I'm okay, mom…" she found herself persisting, wiping up her lids mostly for show. "Just under-the-weather. It's no big deal."

She arranged her food as well as she was able, while Jinx proved she was paying little attention to whatever claims Mary made – and they were lies anyway.

"But, you look pale…" while the blonde picked up her spoon to sample the soup, she felt a hand on her forehead. It was soft and supple; gentle enough to calm her, yet resolute enough to get to the root of the problem. It was a mother's hand. "You don't have a fever…" the palm flipped back-to-front.

"It's nothing…" Mary pressed onward, unfortunately still snuffling so her nose would quit running after her conversation with Marshall. "It's probably a nasty cold – or I ate something I shouldn't have."

"Well, you just have what you can manage…" Jinx indicated the array, Mary gulping the soup faster than she intended; she was famished. "Best to let your stomach settle."

Mary decided to accept this view without further comment, although as she inhaled her dinner she ended up mulling things over a little more meticulously. Jinx simply sat there watching her eat, chin in her hand, apparently without a care in the world. How did she know what to do? Mary's childhood notwithstanding, she seemed to have some sort of… What had Marshall called it?

Instinct.

An instinct; an inner urge; a tiny voice at the back of her mind that told her exactly what to do when her child was in trouble. The trouble might be minor; hardly anything to lose sleep over, and yet here she was. She knew how to nurture and dote in ways that only mothers could. It was like a secret club to which Jinx and every other parent belonged.

A club Mary had recently become incapable of entering.

"Mom…"

She didn't know what made her open her mouth, except that her bowl was nearly empty since she'd stopped poring over Jinx.

"Yes, dear?"

"Can I ask you something?"

Jinx was all ears, "Of course, honey."

Something about the leeway made Mary balk suddenly. What on earth was she thinking? What could she possibly ask her mother that would not give everything away? Despite the sorrow gnawing at the ridges of her belly, she couldn't tell her – she couldn't even hint. It was too embarrassing; too shameful. Marshall knowing was bad enough.

"Nothing…never mind…"

It was apparent Jinx wasn't going to be shuffled aside that easily. She laid a hand on Mary's forearm, blinking slowly, obviously trying not to push, but nearly unable to help herself. Her daughter rarely acted so openly, and she wanted to run with it.

"I wish you'd tell me if there's something on your mind…" she advised ardently. "You do seem a little down, Mary."

Any other day, she would've used her sickness as an excuse for her attitude. But, she'd done enough of that already; it felt like a crutch she was not accustomed to using. It made her feel like a cripple, and as dishonored as she'd done that afternoon.

"It's just…"

Maybe she could spin this. Asking how her mother learned to be a mother was a dead and blatant giveaway. And so, setting her spoon aside and considering the half-assed sandwiches, she strove toward a different truth, but one that was equally pressing on her mind.

"Did you know Marshall's seeing someone?"

That came out wrong. That wasn't what she'd planned at all. Where had it come from?

"No…" Jinx shook her head. "He is?"

"Yeah…" Mary sighed, fiddling with the blanket across her middle. "Her name's Abigail. And…" she hedged briefly, but figured she might as well get on with it. "I've just been taking up a lot of his time lately; he's been helping me with…"

She cut herself off at once, shaking her head and trying to ignore Jinx's uncultivated curiosity.

"…A few things," she finished lamely. "I don't want him to feel like I'm holding him back…" she confessed. "But, I don't want to give him up to some bimbo either."

Especially not now – not when she couldn't possibly predict how losing the baby was going to toy with her psyche in the impending days. A virtual roller coaster could be right around the corner, and she entrusted no one but Marshall to lead her through.

Jinx stifled a laugh at her daughter's terminology and reached up to play with Mary's hair. Her grin was warm and soothing in that mother's capacity Mary abruptly longed to possess.

"He would never ask you to give him up," she stated confidently. "That isn't something best friends do."

Maybe not, Mary told herself dismally. But how long could one man last? How long could he protect her? And even if he could, there was no guarantee he could protect her from her greatest demon – herself.

XXX

**A/N: Little bit of Marshall, little bit of Jinx, lots of Mary! It is finally going to be a new day in the next chapter, so hopefully that is good!**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Finally a new day in IPS world! **

XXX

Threatening storm clouds met Mary on Friday morning. In fact, it was because of their presence that she didn't roll out of bed until after ten, which was practically afternoon when you considered her usual schedule. But, the absence of the sun trying to break through her net curtains meant she snoozed away under the cover of darkness, pain alleviated when she didn't have to be awake to feel it.

Shocking herself, she actually had no notions about going to work. Aside from the fact that Marshall would banish her homeward, now with Stan to back him up, Mary didn't have any inklings of going in. She puttered around the house for awhile, listening to distant thunder and watching flashes of heat lightning outside the patio door. WITSEC seemed weirdly trivial today; like it was no more than a blip on her radar. With the weight of the loss heavy on her shoulders, everything else faded into the woodwork. It left Mary with an empty, concave sensation in her chest, one that made her prone to tearing up without foreseeable reason whatsoever.

Despite the lack of desire for heading to the Sunshine Building, she eventually got dressed and ventured that direction just before lunchtime. She had nothing to do at home, and brooding over coffee, mesmerized by the grayness of the outdoors, didn't help. Although it was the opposite of how she generally behaved, she had unfamiliar stirrings, thinking being around others might aide in some way.

Marshall was visibly cautious when he heard the badge swipe in the double doors and saw his partner walking through, but less so because there was definitely something different about Mary. For one, she was hardly breaking down the door to get to her desk. She was nothing short of dismal and not even bothering to hide it, both in features and appearance. Her hair was tied sloppily into a bun at the nape of her neck, and she wore jeans with an old flannel shirt he'd never seen before. Not her typical style for work.

"I didn't expect to see you in today…" he voiced warily, leaving his Chinese food on top of his papers and following Mary to her seat. "I was gonna call you as soon as I finished lunch."

"I saved you the trouble," Mary replied, dumping her bag on the floor.

Marshall registered quite a bit in just five words. Two days before, she'd have said the same sentence with as much contempt as she could muster, wrinkling her nose and scowling. Today, it was emitted in a diluted whisper with refusal to meet his eyes.

"It wouldn't have been any trouble," Marshall claimed, figuring it was safe to do so if she was going to sound so obliging. "Are you sure you're up to this?"

He watched as Mary halted before sitting down, contemplating a response. When she looked up, her eye caught sight of Stan scrutinizing them through his window. If she'd turned an inch to the right, she would've bet a decent amount of money Delia was doing the same thing. She did her best to ignore both of them.

"Did you hear me?" Marshall pressed after a few minutes. "You really didn't have to come in. Are you sure you're okay with working?"

To his immense astonishment, she fed him large, woebegone green eyes that were drooping with fatigue, and shook her head. At first, Marshall was certain he'd been seeing things, but the way she averted her gaze the second she'd expressed what she was feeling convinced him he'd interpreted correctly.

"You're not?" he tried to clarify anyway, desperate to grab hold of her glance again. "Then…"

"I don't think I'm ready for witnesses…" she murmured, attempting to sound businesslike, but her voice quavered regardless. "I just wanted to get some work done. I needed something to do."

Marshall wasn't sure what to say, so he kept it simple, "Oh?"

"I don't want to get into it with Stan and Delia around…" eyes skirting to their watching forms. "Can I just work and not be bothered?"

She prayed he would say yes. Surely he would appreciate how sensible she was being, even if it was unintentional. She just knew her mindset was not up to snuff; she didn't trust herself not to burst into tears at any given moment. Although it was jarring to feel so off-kilter, she could only hope Marshall would understand.

And understand he did, "Absolutely," with a bold nod. And with nary a word about help, "I'm going to finish my lunch."

Mary nodded back at him to show her recognition and bypassed any meaningful looks when she went to sit down, Marshall doing the same. All the crap she'd left strewn on her desk the day before was still there; unwelcoming and vast. She reminded herself she'd done this for a reason. It didn't do any good to sit at home and wallow. She needed to keep busy, but reign herself in wherever possible. She hoped being honest with Marshall about what she was prepared for would make for smooth sailing.

She noticed the oddest things as she began to sort through files and forms. So many of her witnesses had children; children she'd never given second thought before today. Why did they jump out at her like this? Young, old, infantile; there were families scattered among the individuals that she'd never recognized as such before.

Leo Billups was almost thirteen these days, but his adoptive baby sister was rounding out three years old; chubby-cheeked and rosy. Iris McBride was heading into her freshman year of college, where her sister Lily would be starting high school. Liza and Soren Rogan, Billy and Gretel Sullivan, Sabrina Jordan, even little Dylan whom she'd saved from being mauled by a car just a week before. They'd been mere afterthoughts to Mary in the past, and all their faces stood out before her as she updated information and plugged in ages.

They were growing up and getting along without her, adjusting to the program as though it were an old shoe. Many had barely known life without it. Their fresh features and unspoiled qualities held her eye; promising futures, greener pastures. A whole life ahead of them.

"Mary, could I see you for a minute?!"

Stan was barking from his office, causing Mary to snap out of her stupor; the daze with which she typed. At first, she didn't entirely hear him, too caught up in remaining focused so she wouldn't have to think about all she'd lost. She blinked, trying to figure out if he'd really said anything, and it was Marshall who was kind enough to repeat the words.

"Mary, Stan wants you."

She shook her head and rolled her chair back, "Right."

Mind buzzing, entirely aware of Marshall's eyes following her across the room, she entered Stan's office and swung the door shut without waiting for him to ask. It made a resounding thud; the blinds on his window shuddered with the force. Stan was just sitting there while she crossed her arms over her chest, hiding herself out of habit.

"Yes?" a weak, timid greeting that was not at all persuasive.

Stan was obviously determined. He set down his pen and joined her on the other side of the desk. Mary suddenly wished she appeared more presentable. Her top was crooked and her hair was a mess. She looked as though she'd come straight from bed, which was partially true.

"I'm not quite sure what to say, Mary," Stan vocalized quietly, suddenly looking much shorter than usual. "I'm new at this."

A scoff without heat, "Makes two of us."

She wondered dimly if Stan was going to try and lay a hand on her. He was about as uncomfortable with affection as she usually was, but he was hardly insensitive. She reflected while they stared at one another that they might've known each other long enough to have bridged the gap.

"You know you don't have to be here…" he insisted hesitantly, clearly afraid she was going to fly off the handle any moment. "I'm fine with you taking some time off. Marshall and Delia will cover things."

Mary shrugged, self-conscious and wanting to pull her hair out of its bun. Why was Stan putting her through this? Wouldn't it have just been kinder to leave her be? It was all she'd asked for. She worried frantically about crying in front of him – crying for a baby she hadn't planned on keeping. Until she worked out why she was such a basket case, she had no business engaging in discussions like this one.

"I just came to take my mind off things," she finally replied honestly. "I don't know that I'll stay long."

Stan actually craned his neck backward in surprise – no doubt at her sensibility.

"Well, sure…" he offered uncertainly. "If that's what you need."

The next phrase slipped without consent, "I'm not sure what I need."

Although it was said without panic, there was a definite note of bitterness that Mary didn't bother to keep in check. Wearing her heart on her sleeve wasn't customary, but she'd been drained of her energy to put up the façade. It didn't seem very important to play pretend, although breaking down was still going much too far.

When Stan didn't answer, her mouth ran off again, and it was with strangely cordial words.

"But, I'm sorry I kept the pregnancy from you…"

Her breath caught in her throat, unable to go on. It was like her windpipe had been unexpectedly constricted. She had to swallow in order to finish, but the way her heart ached at the spoken word, 'pregnancy' was startling. It turned her upside-down without warning. What had been yesterday was no longer; such a life-changing event could be taken at the drop of a hat.

"As my boss, you had a right to know…"

Stan must've seen her go pale trying to apologize and stepped in.

"Marshall said it was unplanned and that you were still trying to wrap your brain around it; it's okay…"

His understanding made Mary feel worse. She couldn't even speak, too fearful of what might be expelled. She clamped her arms tighter against her ribcage, willing herself to get it together.

"What's done is done," Stan concluded sagely. "There's no sense worrying about it now."

He was wrong about that. Worrying was how she would figure out where she'd messed up; where she'd lost her grip and allowed this kid to fall through the cracks. Couldn't anyone identify with that?

"Is that all you wanted?" Mary asked to avoid berating Stan about the subject of worries. "To tell me I should be at home resting?" said devoid of malice.

She'd made him uncomfortable now. He shifted, rummaging for nothing in his pockets, eyes darting all over the ground to avoid meeting hers. Well, she'd certainly done enough of that on her own that she could relate. He wanted to escape almost as badly as she wanted to.

"Mostly…" Stan eventually conceded, hunching his shoulders. "And to tell you that…I'm sorry…" coughing; clearing his throat. "If that's appropriate."

It was very formal of Stan, but Mary knew he did it because he felt morally obligated. That, and Marshall had probably made it sound very disturbing and horrific on some level when they'd discussed her the night before, as she was sure they had. He'd been right when he'd told her that people didn't consider the object of miscarriage a suitable one for mourning. Nobody seemed certain how to handle themselves when it came to bestowing pity.

"I'm not sure why you're sorry…" Mary started to say in a frail voice that she absolutely detested. "Since you didn't do anything…"

"Neither did you," the chief cut her off at once, suddenly remembering Marshall's claim that the inspector was blaming yourself. "I hope that you know that."

"And how do _you_ know that?" the woman faced him dead on, eyes blazing with a kind of despondent ferocity. It was not at all up to her usual standards; the dampness lingered, ready to surge forth even as she tried fruitlessly to look menacing. "How do _you_ know I didn't do this kid in?" she continued with reckless abandon. "You been reading up with Marshall? Researching the ins and outs of pregnancy?"

Saying the word once more lit a flame against Mary's already tender heart. It seemed to burn upward, scorching her throat and pulsating in the whites of her eyes. This was not what she wanted. Her protests toward Stan were shabby; the phrases were there but the emotion was not. She did not sound angry, which had been her preference, but dejected.

Stan tried to gather himself as best he could, "Mary, I just don't think…"

"_I_ did this, all right?" she broke on each word, skin growing hot, agitation tingling in each of her limbs. "_I_ was accountable for a child_ I_ created and I _failed_."

She spit the letters in hopes of sounding more self-assured; more livid than melancholy. It didn't work. Covering her eyes with her hand and revealing her misshapen body, she allowed droplets to trickle slowly onto her face, wetting her fingers and making her feel more disgraceful by the second.

Beneath the gap in her fingers, she could see Stan approaching, shirking off all awkwardness. Mary wished it weren't him. She'd feel safer if it were Marshall. He'd assure her she could deal with this whatever way she needed, instead of begging her to see reason.

"I'm sure this is hard, inspector…"

She felt a hand flutter to her side, near the small of her back; a miniscule gesture of consolation.

"But, you have to know nobody would consider you responsible…"

Except herself.

"And, is that the only reason you're having a rough go?"

The tears dried briefly while Mary considered that question beneath the shelter of her hand. What was Stan implying? She'd lost the baby because she'd done something wrong; that was all there was to it. What else could he possibly mean?

Did he think her upset over the child itself? That was impossible. She'd been on the fast-track to making plans to tote him out of her life for all eternity. She wouldn't be so egocentric as to claim ownership after the fact. Hadn't she explained that to Marshall just the day before?

"The baby was never mine," Mary stated evenly, sniffling and gingerly wiping her eyes without spectacle.

Stan wasn't following, "Then whose was it?"

Mary took pause, thinking surely Marshall must've told him everything, including her plan for adoption. But, it was obvious from the perplexed look in his deep brown eyes that he hadn't been clued in quite that extensively. Now wasn't the time to get into it, so she saved face as much as she was capable of doing.

"Forget it," definitive as possible. "It's stupid; never mind."

Stan had definite doubts; there was no question. He was smart enough not to voice them, however.

"All right…" he said slowly, clearly eager for a segue out of this minefield. "I really want you to go easy on yourself, Mary. Do what feels right and leave the rest for another day."

What if nothing ever felt right again? What if this pit Mary had crashed down inside had no ladder; no rungs; no grapples for her to climb up? Was she going to feel this unconcerned about work forever? Would she continue to be plagued by what might have been?

"I shouldn't have snapped at you," she was suddenly back to considerate, hoping she'd relieved herself of all excess tears. "I know you were just trying to help."

Once again, Stan was thrown by the generosity of spirit, and eyed her red-rimmed lids and tear tracks suspiciously. The hand that had been resting on her curve moved to her forearm on the opposite side, and he patted in a paternal way. It took Mary back to the night she'd gotten home after having been abducted, and Stan had stroked her hair while she sat in misery on her bed. It wasn't a memory that evoked anything pleasant.

"I'm used to you," he stated softly with the merest hint of amusement. "You take care of yourself. I'll be in here if there's anything you need."

Mary settled for a nod to wrap things up, terrified of exposing herself again. When she was sure Stan was finished with his condolences, she turned and pulled open his door to head back to her desk. This revealed the window beyond, and the grey of the clouds had advanced from that morning. They were now a deep charcoal, and from the way the leaves danced and spun on the roof, Mary could see that the wind was blowing something vicious. A storm was definitely brewing; no question about it.

Her legs were weighted in carrying her to her seat. Marshall was standing at the file cabinet behind his desk, perusing folders for minutes at a time. Delia was on the phone. To the naked eye, it was a typical day at WITSEC without its usual call for action. When Mary eventually sat down, all she did was look at her witnesses and their histories, unable to make herself continue onward. She knew it was better than home; better than brooding, but it didn't prompt her to move any faster.

Stan's assumption that she was languishing over an unborn baby was prominent at the forefront of her mind; a possibility she hadn't considered. But, a possibility that could very well ring true.

When she averted her eyes from her screen, she saw a banana nut muffin concealed in saran wrap sitting next to her keyboard. It had Delia's fingerprints all over it, and Mary contemplated whether Stan or Marshall had filled her in as well. She decided she didn't care and set the treat aside for a time she might enjoy it.

"You awake over here?"

Marshall had appeared at her backside, watching her sit motionless and altering his phrase to sound joking. Mary knew he'd wanted to ask if she was all right, but had chosen to play games instead.

"Would you like some help with that load?" he offered, indicating the papers spread all over. "I'm a little sparse this afternoon; we could work together."

Marshall was never short of paperwork, and Mary knew collaborating with him would only heighten his awareness of her troubles.

"I have it under control," she reported flatly. "But, thank-you."

It felt abnormally essential to express such gratitude. He'd done so much for her, and all she ever did was take it for granted. Just as she'd took impending motherhood for granted.

"If you change your mind," Marshall spoke again, albeit slightly more guardedly. "You know where to find me."

Yes, she knew where to find him, and she knew where to find Stan as well, as he'd pointed out the exact same thing. While she pondered the men's devotion to her with one corner of her mind, the other corner focused on the file she'd left up on her computer. It was Leo Billups in all his glory; a son she'd very nearly rocked to sleep in a dingy hotel when he was only ten years old.

"Leo's almost thirteen," she found herself saying out of nowhere, remembering the stat from earlier. "I had to update his picture," jerking her head at the screen.

Marshall peered over her shoulder, content to go along with her spacey attitude. On some weird level, he seemed pleased she was so out-of-it. It meant she wasn't hiding as was customary, which had always exasperated him.

"I'll be damned," he commented with a resolute nod. "It doesn't seem like it's been that long."

"I remember him when he came to us," Mary went on without facing her partner. "He was only eight."

"Quite the little smart-mouth he was too…" Marshall declared with a certain fondness. "A man after your own heart, I trust."

He was trying to be kind, and Mary knew it. But, looking at the photograph of this soon-to-be-teenager, once a scared little boy who'd used words as weapons, she couldn't help feeling as though time was slipping away faster than she could catch it. Kids she'd nurtured into WITSEC, into her life blood, were outlasting their days as dependent children and forging onward; ready for a brave new world.

And what Mary saw in them was that her time was dwindling too. While the people she protected staked out their own path, she was stuck on the same road she'd traveled the last ten years. She knew she'd just lost one of the last chances she'd had at finding someone to protect for all eternity.

A being to outlast herself.

XXX

**A/N: I admit I have actually forgotten how old Leo was supposed to be in his episode. I know he started out one age and then there was supposed to be a two year difference, but I can't remember if he went from eight to ten or ten to twelve. And I have neglected to look it up! Either way, creative license. ;)**


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: You all are truly wonderful! I cannot believe I am almost to 100 reviews. We aren't even halfway through the story yet!**

XXX

Regrettably, Mary's day went from bad to worse a lot faster than she ever could've predicted. She worked mindlessly for about an hour after lunch, punching in names and numbers like a robot. She was bored, but rather stanch in her efforts. It was easy and she didn't have to think about it.

But something stirred within when Marshall allowed a young woman with a fat baby girl through the glass double doors. The woman didn't look like she was more than twenty-five years old, and the baby probably not yet a year. She was as bald as a melon with enormous blue eyes that almost took up her entire face. Her mother had very long brown hair, tangled and past her chest. The baby kept grabbing at it, yanking up and down.

Marshall directed her to the conference room with a muttered word about grabbing files. She obliged and Marshall hung behind, shuffling through a stack on his desk. Mary watched him the whole time, bouncing back and forth on what she wanted to say or do. Something about the sight of new witnesses – fresh blood – had kick-started her system. Shaky but determined, she acted on impulse when Marshall marched across the room.

"Mind if I join?"

Marshall stopped at once, assessing his friend as quickly as he could, knowing the woman was waiting for him. His gut feeling was to tell Mary no; to tell her he could handle it. The irony of their latest arrival having a child hadn't missed him. He was puzzled as to why Mary would jump at the chance to assist this particular witness.

Nonetheless, he'd been proud of the way she hadn't avoided her problems this blustery Friday. She hadn't driven forward, acting as if they'd all fallen into some fantasy where the day before hadn't occurred. For Mary this was paramount and dealing with her issues in a far healthier way than normal. Still, he couldn't ignore the dismal nature of her forest eyes, like the lights had been turned out inside her head.

"I suppose…" he finally managed slowly. "You just want to sit in?"

Mary stood up just as laboriously and trotted to Marshall's side.

"I don't know…" she confessed with a shrug, focusing on the shining blueness of his gorgeous eyes. They made her feel calm, and she needed that more than ever with her nerves clattering around, making her ribcage splinter. "This is my job, isn't it? Should I really pretend I don't know how to do it?"

"Well, it's not a matter of pretending you're not coherent…" Marshall corrected, slipping the file folder under his arm. "That would be foolish. It's a matter of whether your mind is present, here in the office, or if it's preoccupied with other affairs, of which it would have every right."

Mary spent a moment trying to work out why Marshall spoke about her brain as if it were its own entity apart from her emotions or her body. By the look on his face, he was worried his statement might be taken as insult or cause for snark. But once again, Mary surprised him.

"Only one way to find out I guess…" she claimed in a would-be-nonchalant sort of tone. "Let's go. She's waiting."

Feeling certain this wasn't going to go as smoothly as Mary might hope, he held out his hand regardless, indicating for Mary to lead the way. Ordinarily, she'd be grabbing the contents of the file out of his hands to harangue the witness before he could get a chance, but not this time. She slipped through the door ahead of him, wiping her hands on her jeans, which were bizarrely sweaty.

What was the matter with her? She needed to chill out. She'd been doing this for upwards of ten years. One little bump in the road shouldn't have her doubting her abilities as a Marshal. One had nothing to do with the other. Even when the witness _did_ have a kid.

"Katherine, this is Inspector Shannon…" Marshall introduced them. "She's my partner. I would imagine she will be an integral part of your case down the road."

"Hi…" the brunette said nervously, bouncing the baby on her knee, who was whimpering. "Katherine Camden…" they shook hands, but a look of tension flitted in the witness' face. She quickly rectified her statement, "Katherine Carson, I mean." She blinked guiltily at Marshall, "Sorry."

"Quite all right," he interjected politely while Mary commenced with the pleasantries.

"Mary Shannon," she used her first name this time. "Good to meet you," she tried to keep her eyes off the baby; act as if she weren't even there.

As her and Marshall both sat opposite Katherine, he launched right into her story, and Mary was happy to just listen. Unfortunately, simply listening wasn't easy when the child squirmed and moaned in her mother's arms, altering Mary's attention away from the vital information.

"Katherine here has been very cooperative…" he was saying, rifling through papers. "She was living in a low-income neighborhood in Chicago; is that right…?"

"A suburb, yeah," Katherine affirmed quietly. "Shh, baby…" she crooned, pecking that round, shiny head with kisses to get her to stop whining.

"And, she saw a drug deal go south from her apartment window. You watched one man shoot another and take off with the money, which was in a duffel bag?" Marshall clarified, which earned him an edgy nod. "And then you went outside to retrieve some of the money that had fallen from the bag…"

Katherine cut him off, hysteria biting in each word as she fought to keep in control, "I-I wasn't going to keep it…" she insisted. "I was scared and I thought the men had gone – even the one who'd been shot had gotten up and ran away…" she swallowed hard, but her agitation made her daughter fuss again. With another soothing jounce of her knee, "I thought the money might be evidence for the police; they have a hard time sorting out criminals from snitches in that suburb," she explained. "I wasn't involved at all."

Despite the unconvincing nature of her voice, Mary knew the uncertainty came because she was so nervous. She'd never had a witness this young that had to take care of themselves and another.

"Of course you weren't," Marshall gave her a kind, reassuring smile. "The police report and the notes from the Chicago DA explain everything. They also say that you were discovered by that drug cartel after you went to the police, and that they're out for blood."

"I guess…" Katherine whispered shyly. "I really was just trying to help. I didn't even know Witness Protection was a real thing until this."

"Real and well on its way to rewarding you for being so courageous about going to the authorities regarding what you saw," Marshall stated nobly. "You did the right thing, Katherine. Didn't she, Mary?"

Mary wasn't really paying attention. She was watching the baby fiddle with the buttons on Katherine's shirt to amuse herself. Her head was so amazingly bald it seemed to glow under the fluorescent lights. She was drooling all over her mother's top, but Katherine did not even take notice. Mary could see tearstains on the little girl's cheeks, meaning they had undoubtedly had a rough flight into Albuquerque.

"Mary?" Marshall prompted, louder this time.

Pulling herself together, she tore her eyes from the scene, "Sorry, I missed that. What?"

Marshall was instantly regretting his willingness to bring Mary along for the ride, lamenting her usually apt attention span. Nonetheless, her reeled in his disquiet and repeated himself.

"Katherine did the right thing. Few in her position would be so dignified."

Katherine offered a modest smile while Mary put the pieces together. Marshall had said something about drugs and windows. Judging by his attitude, this was a witness who had been in the wrong place at the wrong time, typically their favorite kind so long as they weren't imbeciles that blew their cover.

"No, yeah…" she agreed absently. "Absolutely. You did the right thing," she would just assume.

Marshall accepted that response and surged forward, transitioning to Katherine's personal details rather than the intricacies of the case. His voice was a distant hum in Mary's brain, not nearly as loud as the baby's coos on the other side of the room.

"So Katherine, you are…twenty-three, correct?" he had his finger on her date of birth.

"Almost twenty-four," she answered. "In August."

"And, the only relatives you were in contact with in Illinois were your mother and brother?"

Mary saw her gulp, fighting heavy emotion by shutting her eyes and reopening them, "Yes, but really just my brother," her voice was oddly muffled, masking tears. "My mother and I have been estranged since I had Penny."

So, the child had a name. Mary tried it on for size as she continued to zero in on the baby. Penny, with her gargantuan cobalt eyes, egg head, and little green sundress, had no idea how her life had just changed. Much like Mary's other young witnesses, she'd never know anything different so long as Katherine played by the rules. A whole utopia full of prospects lay in front of her.

"And this must be Penny…" Marshall crooned in a boyish voice to distract from Katherine's difficulties. "How old is she?" he batted his eyelashes coyly like some sort of grandmother.

"She'll be a year in September," Katherine proclaimed proudly through a waterlogged smile. "I don't know where her father is. When he found out I was pregnant he bolted – and my mother tried to warn me about him, but…" she did her best to brush that aside. "I didn't listen," an embarrassed laugh.

"Well, we'll watch out for Penny just like we'll look after you," Marshall assured her, choosing not to comment on her parentage. "Is there anything either of you need before we get started on the Memorandum of Understanding?" he plunked the giant document onto the table.

Mary expected Katherine to say no – most people liked to get the process of the MOU over as quickly as possible – but that wasn't the case.

"Could I use the restroom first?" she asked politely.

"Sure – down that hall and to the right," Marshall pointed behind him.

"Thanks…" she expressed gratefully, standing up and parading around the other side of the table. "I'll just be a minute…"

Marshall must've been anticipating what a trip to the bathroom might mean, but Mary sure wasn't. Before she could protest and had barely caught Marshall's frantically scurrying eyes, she found herself with a lap full of Penny, and Katherine was gone, the plump baby wiggling uncertainly in Mary's arms.

Why had Katherine dumped the child with her? Was it because she was a woman? Did she think women automatically had some pull toward kids that men did not? Was that some trait she was supposed to involuntarily possess by being female? Why not Marshall? He'd been the one making goggle-eyes. Mary had barely said two words.

He obviously panicked too, although tried not to show it.

"Here, I can take her…"

He held out his arms, but Mary didn't move. Penny had shifted, trying to stand on her chubby legs, so the woman slid her onto the desktop so they sat facing one another. The little girl was examining the stitched purple flowers on her dress like her life depended on it; like there was nothing more interesting in the world.

Lack-of-response worried Marshall further. His friend was blank, just staring at the baby like she'd never seen one before. Regardless, he buried his apprehension and focused instead on Penny, deciding not to push Mary if she wasn't going to open up.

"Hi, sweet girl…" he whispered lovingly, blue eyes growing bluer and more lifelike as he plucked at the cotton on her dress. "What are you looking at?" he asked, innocently curious. "What are you looking at?"

He poked a finger into her belly and she started, looking up and meeting the man's gaze – blue-to-blue. For a moment, all she did was watch him, trying to figure out where the motion had come from. She then shifted her gaze curiously to Mary. To the woman's astonishment, she extended her own finger and pointed, babbling incoherently, bashful and tentative, but not entirely frightened.

"What's she doing?" Mary managed to ask, not sure she wanted to know.

"Talking," Marshall replied easily. "As well as she knows how."

Talking wasn't all. Disliking the hard surface of the table, Penny slid forward on her butt and tried to climb back into Mary's lap. Mary stopped her without thinking, rolling her chair to block her path, which meant the little girl just sat there, legs dangling over the edge now.

The pointed finger fell slack and landed on Mary's chest now that they were so much closer. The bald head leaned forward, resting on the woman's shoulder. Without direction, her hand roved over the smoothness of the flawlessly rounded globe. It was soft. It was perfect.

Watching the spectacle touched Marshall, but the silence was unnerving. He was anxious and had to make sure.

"Mary?" he prodded hesitantly. "Are you okay?"

No. No, she was not okay. Marshall's voice brought her back to earth. Back to a planet where she was practically cuddling with a baby that was not hers. A baby that could've very well been quite similar to the one that had fallen through her grasp only yesterday afternoon. Marshall asking enabled her to feel the pain that Penny had somehow cloaked.

It was real and it was raw and it was tearing her up from the inside out. Her hands acted of their own accord and plopped the baby in Marshall's lap. She was standing up; she was leaving. She had to get out of here. It was no longer safe here.

"Mary…" Marshall called over his shoulder, shifting the child as he spoke. "Mary, wait…"

She ignored his pleas and left him where he was, wrenching open the door and going where her feet led her, which was outside on the roof to tumultuous, raging winds and billowing storm clouds. The breeze was loud and hot and rushed into her psyche, making it easier to forget everything crashing down inside her.

Meanwhile, indoors, Marshall was forced to stand up, toting Penny on his hip. He didn't consider for a minute not going after Mary, even though he was pretty sure that was the last thing she wanted. Stan had already spotted his inspector flying out the balcony door and was joining Marshall in the main room.

"Hey Delia!" the taller of the two shouted out, hoping he came off loud rather than harried.

The mentioned left her seat as well and Marshall met her halfway, grateful her desk was concealed from the window, so she hadn't seen Mary bolt.

"Would you mind taking Penny for just a minute?" he asked, transferring the baby girl without waiting for an answer. "Her mother – Katherine – will be back from the bathroom in no time and she still needs to go over the MOU."

"Sure...!" Delia crowed excitedly, Marshall pointedly keeping her behind the inner wall so she wouldn't glimpse Mary in the aftermath. "Hi sugar pie…" she sang, smacking her lips against the bald pate.

"Thanks," Marshall expressed with a sigh, stuffing his hands in his pockets while Delia mooned over Penny. He was struck by a sudden inspiration if he wanted to keep Mary's situation even semi-private, "Do you think you could start Katherine on the MOU?" he inquired. "I just have something to take care of. If you're busy, I understand…"

"No-no; it's no trouble," Delia was as agreeable as ever, clearly alight with joy at getting to play with a cute baby. "Let's go, my darling…"

And without another thought, she danced Penny all the way back to the conference room. The child obviously had a button fetish; she'd started fingering Delia's just as she had Katherine's. But, Marshall was just glad he hadn't had to make up too many stories. He loved Delia for just going with the flow and not prying further.

He and Stan congregated in the center of the room, watching Mary in silence for a few minutes. She had her arms splayed over the cement wall that looked out over the street below. She'd ripped her hair out of its bun – it wasn't really her style anyway – and it was swirling all over in the raging wind. How she could see was a mystery, but Marshall guessed that wasn't her concern at the present time.

"What happened?" Stan eventually goaded with an exhale. "She seemed like she was doing all right. Did something set her off?"

Marshall copied the gasp and stuck a hand on his hip, "Penny, I think," he motioned toward the baby through the glass. "She must be more upset about this than I realized."

"Well, she was going to be a mother…" Stan rationalized plainly, as though this were clear. "I don't imagine that's something you let go of right away."

"Well…"

Marshall bought himself time, leaving Stan and going to the sink to pour a glass of water for Mary. All he could find in the kitchenette was a navy blue US Marshal mug, so figured it would have to do. It was painted with a gold star, but was chipped on the side opposite the handle. Running the sink, knowing Stan was waiting for him to go on; he decided the rest of the truth couldn't hurt anymore than the initial facts. He was used to Mary being mad at him, after all.

"Sort of…" he stated clumsily, rejoining Stan. "Did she happen to mention to you what her plans were for the baby?"

Stan shook his head, "No. What do you mean? What plans?"

Drumming his free hand on his thigh, he continued boring into the back of his partner's head, wondering if she was going to turn around before he reached her.

"She told me she wanted to give the baby up for adoption," he confessed in a low voice. "I think she was just overwhelmed at the onset, and freaked out that her job might be put in jeopardy, not to mention the child itself – being a US Marshal is dangerous…"

"Right…" Stan backed him up, squinting at the woman now.

"While I commend her for trying to be responsible, I cannot help feeling she wouldn't have gone through with it," Marshall presumed. "Not if she's this torn up about the miscarriage."

Part of him had thought Stan would have a more unfavorable reaction to Mary's original sketch of events, but he ought to know by now that their boss wasn't one to judge. He slid right past the mention of adoption and patted Marshall's arm.

"You'd better go make sure she's okay…" he suggested. "Ever since Norman, folks on the balcony make me nervous."

This wasn't the most encouraging thought he could've left Marshall with, but he'd already gone before he could voice as such. Nothing to do now but figure out the best way to appease Mary, Marshall marched on his cowboy boots across the linoleum and slowly pulled open the door to the roof.

The wind almost bowled him over the second he set foot outside, meaning the door slammed shut with a loud bang. Mary didn't seem to notice, however, and Marshall approached her cautiously, unsure what he might find near the ledge. The spindly black table was in danger of toppling over and thunder continued to growl in a sinister way, deep and sorrowful across the mountains in the distance.

Once the breeze swirled, seemingly evaporating into nothingness for a mere moment, Marshall decided his chance had come. He journeyed the rest of the way to the ridge, glad he wouldn't have to shout over the elements.

"Mary…?"

Her face was obscured by her hair, hanging in a tousled mess over her profile. Risking it, Marshall brushed the stray strands aside and behind her ear.

"Hey…" tender and soft.

Her lip was quivering and the lightest of tears were rolling down her cheeks. She looked so – there was no other word for it – _sad_. Defeated and nothing short of heartbroken. And aside from being outside, she wasn't even trying to hide it. When she blinked, more beads of dew slid downhill. It broke Marshall in two to see her so uninhibited and suffering.

"Mary, talk to me," he requested evenly. "It's just the two of us."

But, much like the day before, it was apparent conversation wasn't what she wanted or even needed. Now that he was here, she didn't waste any time. Turning from the concrete ledge, forcing Marshall to deposit the mug atop the cement, she slipped seamlessly into his arms. Contrary to the day before, however, she rested her face against his chest, buried within and encompassed by the faithful security of his long, towering body.

Marshall tried not to stiffen; tried not to show how bewildered he was about Mary coming to him for a hug. Instead, he rubbed her back and heard her cry more fully, whimpers of distress accompanying the dampness now.

"Shh…" he beseeched her softly. "Shh…it's okay…" a gallant promise. Massaging her shoulders, he worked to talk her down, "It's okay; calm down…"

After a few hiccups, he heard her voice, which was muffled inside his shirt.

"I am a walking cliché…" Mary bemoaned tragically, sounding sick at the thought. "Blubbering over a kid I didn't even know just because I held some random baby…"

"Mary, you have to stop being so hard on yourself," Marshall implored, listening to her stifle coughs and trying to stem her tears by wiping them on his shirt. "I understand that you're mixed-up – Stan understands…"

"I wouldn't really have given him away…" she confessed, changing topics abruptly and referring to her child that would never be. "I wouldn't have done it…"

Marshall could hear the guilt seething from every word that fell out her mouth, and didn't intend to let her feel shameful for this decision either. Still reeling from the fact that she was gripping him so tightly, he allowed her to hang on and progressed as honestly as possible.

"There was nothing wrong with your contemplation of adoption," he whispered warmly, trying to keep her hair from flying into her face now that the wind was picking back up. "You were trying to protect the baby by keeping him out of the world of WITSEC. And, you hadn't decided anything yet…" he reminded her, tickling his fingers up and down her back now. "You might've changed your mind."

There was a low grumble, "Some mother I would've made."

Marshall couldn't stop himself from sighing since she was so determined to find fault with her abilities, but figured she might've had enough of being placated. Instead of refuting her statement, he latched onto the word 'mother' and went from there.

"How is _your_ mother?" he asked indifferently, grateful to hear her slowing her theatrics, if for no other reason than it would make her feel more in charge. "Did she pester you last night?"

"No…" she sniffled, but wouldn't let go of Marshall. Having him so close was the only thing that alleviated her pain. "She was really sweet…" choking up again very briefly. "She wanted to take care of me."

Marshall wasn't sure the idea forming in his head was going to hold a lot of merit with his partner, but all he could do was make the effort. They were both running in blind at the moment; stupid suggestions were better than none.

"Maybe it would help to tell her…" he advised, hoping he didn't sound pushy. "Jinx loves you, Mare. She'd hate to think of you miserable like this."

Mary couldn't process that initiative in the current moment, as she was too wrapped up in the supple cotton of Marshall's button-up; the way his hands traveled so effortlessly from her neck to her backside. She was wondering with each passing gesture why she had embraced him so few times before now. Why had she warded him off when he'd gotten too close? This was wonderful. It was magical. Here, right next to him, everything was fixed.

"I don't know…" she murmured, breathing hard as they pressed rib-to-rib. "I think she might be the one who turns out miserable."

Marshall paused briefly; still awed she wasn't loosening her grip one iota.

"Perhaps at first," he conceded. "But, she has come a long way. I have confidence she would come around and offer support in the end."

Mary didn't really consider that there was an end in sight. She was far too baffled to foresee anything beyond the here and now. Letting Jinx in on the secret could prompt about a hundred reactions, some positive, but some less so as well.

"I can't even picture myself telling her…" she voiced doubtfully. "Honestly; I don't have a clue how that would go…"

Marshall was acting faster than Mary realized what her indecision might prompt.

"Would you like me to tell her?"

It was this that made the woman realize it was time to pull it together, however shaky she still felt. Marshall trying to give her something of that nature was too much. She glided lazily out of his grip and tried to stem her dripping, murky eyes. It wasn't any easier to see with the debris on the roof whirling in the impending storm. And yet, above her she saw Marshall still looking on with grave distress. She'd bothered him even more than she'd estimated.

"I can't ask you to do that…" Mary whispered blearily, suddenly mourning the refuge of his arms.

"You didn't ask me," Marshall reminded her swiftly, still trying to keep her churning hair under wraps; it was veiling her face every few seconds and he continued to push it behind her ears. "I really do not mind. It would be a difficult conversation for you, but if I stepped in you could simply be waiting in the wings after the fact. I could also gauge Jinx's reaction in case there needs to be a warning."

He tried to smile, barely upturned on the corners, but Mary was unable to return the favor. Marshall didn't understand that revealing to Jinx meant revealing to Brandi and Peter by default, and she could hardly be sure she was ready for that. How could she be, when she couldn't even work out how she felt about the situation? It hadn't even been twenty-four hours and she was already tired of behaving like a lunatic.

"I don't know…" Mary repeated in response to his extended offer. "Maybe."

Marshall nodded, "Fair enough." And then, "Look, I think you were right on the money when you told me witnesses weren't in the game plan today," he reminded her. "I understand if you don't want to go home, but why don't you stick to paperwork for the afternoon? You don't need a three course meal on your plate."

Mary had every intention of telling Marshall that it was the type of witness, rather than the workload, that had set her off, but decided against it. Recalling him to the fact that she'd been driven out of the room and to tears by an innocent baby would only humiliate her further. She was feeling badly enough about wearing her heart all over her sleeve, but something about Marshall's unwavering dependability in the existing climate had her spilling her guts far more than usual.

"I don't know what got into me," she made herself admit; trying to show him she knew it was ludicrous. "I'm just…"

Marshall didn't allow her to finish, "I am afraid you're going to have to face it, inspector," he laid a warm hand on her shoulder, and she sunk into security once more. "You're upset. Who, what, when, where, and why can be sorted out later, but you're grieving, one way or another."

Having her life mapped out like this didn't aide Mary's mood and she felt her eyes welling once more that she'd been unable to cover, even for a day. But, Marshall kept his palm where it was and used his penetrating, cobalt gaze to bear right into her dreary face.

"And, it's okay," he stated plainly. "It's okay. You should do whatever you need."

There was absolutely no good response for this without bawling all over again, so Mary took an entirely different route to attempt to save face one last time.

"Look what I did to your shirt…" she groaned, running her fingers over the damp patches. "You want to mess up mine before we head back in?"

Marshall chuckled as she plucked at her red and blue flannel, still marveling that there was a shirt in her closet he'd never seen her wear. He was used to her plain, simplistic tops; ones that didn't catch his glance unless they were striped or overly bright. This one was obviously well-worn and old; like she'd had it for years.

"Ah, soiled with love…" he commented recklessly, taking his turn at toying with his fabric. "Here…"

And, not even thinking about what he was doing, he pressed his fingers to his lips and placed them against the chest of the plaid, right over Mary's heart.

"See?" he proclaimed, watching her cheeks grow pink. "Now we're even."

XXX

**A/N: I was a little tentative about this chapter. First, because of baby Penny – I thought having Mary around a child would be a little too much of a cliché or too forced. Also, I worry she seems out of character with Marshall, but it is part of my plan. Marshall is her saving grace. ;) **


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: Still so-so grateful to you all for reading and reviewing! Your comments make my days so much better.**

XXX

After work, Mary took her banana nut muffin from Delia and ventured to the coffee shop around the corner from the Sunshine Building. She was avoiding going home, especially after Marshall had mentioned he had a date with Abigail. Until that moment, she'd been toying with the idea of asking him to her place under the guise of sharing dinner and a movie. She'd calmed down considerably since her meltdown on the balcony, and wanted to prove to him she still had her wits about her. But, she'd heard him tell Stan he'd be leaving at six to meet Abigail at Nob Hill Bar and Grill, and backed off at once. She had no intentions of keeping him from his quickly-revving love life.

It had yet to rain, but the weather was wailing in protest louder than ever. Mary could feel her car sway side-to-side on her way to the café, and it was awfully dark for five o'clock in June. Normally, the sun would be casting its reddish glow over the desert sands, rather than this grayish globe she seemed to be trapped within beneath the heavens.

Notions of enjoying her muffin and coffee were on her mind as she waited in line at the bustling bistro, trying to ignore the fact that she could now stomach the beverage. Yesterday, it would've made her frightfully ill, and Mary never thought she'd miss that sensation.

So deep in thought, she nearly had a stroke when a familiar voice bellowed in her ear when she was two people from the front of the line.

"Hey stranger! Long time no see!"

Mary actually dropped her muffin in alarm, only furthering that 'walking cliché' persona. In hindsight, she didn't know who she'd expected, since it was a man's voice, but she'd been caught off guard. Lamenting her suddenly skittish demeanor, she straightened up and retrieved her treat, finding herself face-to-face with Peter.

"Sorry…" he laughed, bending halfway to rectify his mistake and grab the fortuitously saran-wrapped banana nut, but Mary beat him to the punch. "I shouldn't have yelled; I thought you saw me."

Mary bypassed pleasantries at once, "What are you doing here?" she compulsively tried to rearrange her shirt, mentally assessing her shape.

Even before the D and C, she'd been able to conceal her pudginess with baggy sweaters; she hadn't been far enough along to gain considerable weight, although more than most broads according to Doctor Wolk. Now, she just looked swollen and out-of-proportion, which she supposed would right itself with time. Nonetheless, she'd been purposely avoiding her family because of her extra poundage, and now she was desperately trying to see herself through Peter's eyes.

"Um…coffee…" he responded, pointing at the menu over their heads in response to her demand. Obviously, there was no other reason he'd be in the café, "I just got off work and thought I'd stop for a cup."

Feeling foolish for expecting anything else, Mary shook her head to ward off unwelcome possibilities.

"Right…duh…" she added with a forced laugh. "How is work?"

Anything to avoid the subject of her. She knew she looked rather scruffy, as had occurred to her in Stan's office that afternoon. The wind had torn through her hair from her excursion out on the roof, practically tying it in knots.

"Well enough…" Peter replied as they reached the counter. "Why don't I buy you a cup?" he suddenly offered now that it was their turn to order.

"I have money," Mary informed him with a sliver of her old exasperation. "I'm not your date, slick," that sounded better, even if she did have to make an effort.

"Much to mine and Brandi's delight," he teased. "But, I hardly ever get a chance to be a _real_ gentleman now that we're engaged," he claimed. "What are you having?"

Mary knew she couldn't contemplate for too long. She wasn't against Peter shilling out the dough for a four dollar mug of coffee – she was cheap and never said no to a quick buck. But, him buying meant he was probably going to join her while she drank. Who knew what he would uncover if they shared a table?

Frantically, she managed a nod without really processing fast enough, "Just a cappuccino," she mumbled. "None of that girly foam."

Peter chuckled, "Sounds good," and he placed both their requests, sliding dollar bills across the counter to the cashier.

Distinctly ill at ease with each step, Mary was correct in assuming they would be drinking together. Peter sighted a table over in the corner by a window that spanned an entire wall, and Mary saw no escape. Resigned, she sat across from him, at least grateful he couldn't get a close look at her now that the stand obscured her belly. She wondered if she would ever stop being so cognizant of the size of her frame, which was sure to shrink in the impending days.

"I'm actually kind of surprised to see you here…" Peter began as he arranged himself in his seat and slid Mary's cappuccino across the table. "Brandi mentioned last night that Jinx had been to see you and that you were sick."

Mary sipped her drink to pass up answering right away, "Just a twenty-four-hour thing," she concluded credibly. "I was back at the office today," she was getting very talented at looking at people without really looking at them.

"Well, that's good," Peter ripped open a packet of sugar and shook it into his cup. Before Mary could figure out why he approved, "Until yesterday, Brandi was starting to think you were avoiding her."

From the way he raised his eyebrows over the rim of his carton, Mary deduced that he had thought so too – perhaps he still did. Apparently, Jinx's presence in her home fooled no one. Still though, Peter wasn't nearly as dense as she considered Brandi to be, and it was important to be careful here. While she didn't enjoy having to camouflage her circumstances considering the day she'd had, around certain people it was like a reflex.

"I've been busy," her stock-response, drinking so fast she almost burned her tongue. "And, that's what I've been telling Brandi. Are you sure you didn't tail me in here to feed her some gossip?"

Peter snorted into his coffee, "You're the Marshal, not me. It was a chance occurrence," he declared. "I swear."

Mary busied herself with unwrapping her muffin, not wanting to scald herself a second time. In the silence, Peter clearly thought it was best to divert from any kind of secrecy to something more neutral. It was smart of him if he wanted to keep his seat.

"Anyway, Brandi's in Santa Fe," he shared as though there had not been a lull. Mary had wondered why they weren't together if Peter had come from work. "She took a meeting for me, since I was doing a car show this afternoon."

"In this weather?" Mary scoffed, unable to believe she was making the pettiest of petty small talk. "I'm surprised your customers didn't go blowing across the tarmac."

"That's at an airport," Peter corrected her with a laugh. "But, pretty much. It wasn't the most successful exhibition I've ever put on, that's for sure."

Mary couldn't legitimately – or believably – pretend to be interested in an automobile display and so kept quiet. She had her hands clamped so tightly around her coffee it was like she expected someone to steal it. She knew she was clenching because she was nervous, although Peter didn't seem to have any inklings about her boarded up existence.

"Where did you get the muffin?" he asked to break the tension, gesturing at Mary nibbling a corner. "It looks delicious."

"A co-worker," she replied shortly through a full mouth. "She makes scads of them – all flavors. Who am I to say no?" shrugging, in the back of her mind still deducing whether she'd been given the treat because Delia was aware of her situation.

Mention of a colleague appeared to spark something in Peter's brain, because he suddenly shifted topics rather abruptly. Mary was just glad she still had the capability to follow someone's thought process, however fleeting.

"I'm actually glad I bumped into you," he declared, leaning forward, like he expected her to be able to hear better that way. "I might seem a little late to the game on this, but I haven't seen you for a few weeks. I wanted to talk to you about that friend of yours – Mark?"

For the second time in ten minutes, Mary almost had a heart attack. Brandi had opened her gabbing mouth and gone prattling off to her fiancée about God knew what concerning Mark. That had to be what this was. Peter was probably sick to death of hearing about the man and was going to harass Mary for information about their last visit to get Brandi off his back. He could deny having followed her all he wanted; he was obviously seizing his opportunity while he had the chance.

She'd lie. She was good at that. She'd just lie. That was the only thing to do. It would serve Brandi right for butting her nose where it didn't belong. She didn't deserve the truth.

Playing it as cool as possible, Mary prompted further, "What about Mark? I didn't know you'd met him."

"Well, briefly," Peter amended. "Brandi brought him down to the dealership when he was here a couple weeks back. It sounded like you were pretty close to him."

Mary grumped only a portion of honesty, "I was married to him," fixing her shifty eyes on the pecans in the muffin.

Peter didn't act overly surprised, "Brandi didn't really say, but I figured that must've been the case; the way she talked about you two."

"Yeah," Mary muttered darkly. "I think she was hoping for a reunion of sorts," this was good; she could work from this. "No sale."

In any way, shape, or form; not even the littlest bit. Mark was not who she needed to be thinking about right now. He was her tie to this child she wanted to push out of her mind. Mark's presence – imagined or otherwise – was going to make that so much harder. He was the link to this impenetrable gloom flooding into her chest.

"Well, whatever…" Peter cleared his throat uncomfortably, visibly not wishing to touch on the subject of Mary and Mark going to bed together. "Brandi was trying to find him a job at the Autoplex; I think she mentioned to you…"

"Mmm hmm…" Mary hummed between sips of coffee.

"I was sorry I couldn't give him one back in March; I didn't need another salesman at the time…"

"Ah, shame," she interjected sarcastically, but Peter didn't seem to have picked up on it, or even heard at all.

"But, I actually am short these days and I really liked Mark. I know it's a long shot, but do you think he'd consider coming back out here and taking an interview?"

Mary stopped drinking at once and narrowed her eyes over the rim of her cup. Had she just heard what she thought she'd heard? Was Peter trying to kill her? He was well on his way if he continued his streak. First running into him after this bout of misfortune, then mentioning Mark and finally – Mark returning to Albuquerque? He'd lost his mind. She was going to have a coronary any minute.

Brandi was to blame for this. She had put these insane notions in Peter's head and he'd run with them. She was going to strangle her sister if she got the chance.

For his part, Peter could clearly see he had brought up a sensitive subject. He smirked uneasily and tried to backtrack, unable to pull his gaze from Mary's murderous lids.

"I can see by that sunshiny smile you are right on board," he teased with a jittery laugh. Sighing, he ran his hand over his hair, not entirely ready to retreat, "Brandi made it sound like you and Mark got along really well…"

"Like a thousand years go!" Mary spat, blood pressure rocketing just at the idea of him being back in her midst. "I was only seventeen when I married him; our history is confined to the back of his Yugo drinking Jingling after a wedding in the Jersey City chapel. Our reception dinner was Wendy's chicken sandwiches."

"My bad…" Peter said at once, moving considerably back in his chair. "It would seem Brandi's exaggerating?"

"You think?" Mary snapped irritably.

In an instant, she knew she'd gone too far. Although it was far from her usual rude behavior, the recent tragedy that had been placed on her was suddenly making her more sensitive than usual. She felt a pang in her heart seeing Peter's green eyes wilt; she'd made him feel stupid. She'd felt dumb enough in the last twenty-four hours to know it wasn't an emotion she wanted to experience for any length of time.

But, Mark just miles away? Mark on a job with a permanent residence in New Mexico? She'd never be able to move on. The thought of telling him she'd been pregnant with his baby and lost it was too much to bear.

"Peter…" she exhaled, sweeping her muffin and napkin aside, trying to rectify her mistake. "Sorry, I just…"

"No, ex's are tricky; I understand," he asserted kindly. "I've had enough to know that. And, I should've guessed that Brandi was just being…over-exuberant about you and Mark," he went the extra mile. "Romance excites her," a chortle.

"Well, we're far from romantic…"

Child notwithstanding.

"But, he's not a bad guy…" she forced herself to concede, knowing what was going to come out of her mouth next. "I don't know that he's as dependable as he says. He has a tendency to bounce around."

It was in her blood to give Mark as little credit as possible. Try as she might, she saw him as nothing more than the irresponsible twenty-two year old who had hitched her before her eighteenth birthday. She'd missed her father terribly in those days; exhausted from trying to take care of Brandi, who'd been eleven and starting middle school. And then there was Jinx, who'd been sloshed twenty-four-seven. Mark had helped her forget her woes with his undeniable charm and flattery, but she didn't fathom he'd be able to do the same on this go around.

"Has he had a lot of jobs?" Peter inquired, crossing his legs beneath the table.

"Hell if I know," Mary took an unnecessarily large bite of muffin and almost choked on the nuts. "Until Brandi brought him swinging into Albuquerque, I hadn't seen him since I was in my late twenties."

"Well, then what makes you think he isn't reliable?"

Mary took pause, knowing from Peter's tone that he was harmlessly interested and not skeptical. It didn't mean she had a good answer though, and her future brother-in-law was plainly waiting for one.

"Intuition," she left it at that.

Peter might've remained unsatisfied, but he didn't say so, choosing to scrutinize Mary while she picked at the remnants of her muffin. The longer he watched, the more self-conscious she became. What was he looking for? It wasn't as though he and his blabbermouth of a girlfriend hadn't caused enough trouble with this Mark business.

"What? Did I spill or something?" she finally asked sharply, running a hand down her worn flannel.

"No…" Peter shook his head. "Sorry. I just feel like there's something different about you."

She wanted to scream – long and loud; as ferocious as the wind still barreling along outside the window, picking up the leaves and scattering them all over the walk. Peter knew _nothing_ and he could still tell she was off-center. There was something fundamentally wrong with her. For a woman who had buried far more than a baby no one had known was in existence, she was a miserable failure this time in every sense of the word.

Stan knew, Delia likely knew, Peter, and even that witness – Katherine – had probably detected she was secluded and locked within herself. It was frustrating to the point of madness, and Mary was going to have to learn to put this out of her mind.

There was no baby. The baby was gone; never to return. Mark or no Mark, disclosed or undisclosed. There was no changing what had already been.

"I don't know why that would be," Mary voiced as casually as she could.

"Me neither, really…"

"Wearing a hole in my head with that eagle eye isn't going to find it," she finished with a jabbing finger at the spot between his brows. "I've been working overtime and my mother happened to be telling the truth for once. I was out sick yesterday."

There, much better. She felt relieved hearing herself fib so effortlessly.

"That must be it," Peter deduced, sensing the tone. "I didn't mean to imply that you looked worn-out or anything…"

"Even if I do?"

"Even so," he laughed. "I wish I'd spoken to Brandi a little more before I came to you about Mark too," he went on. "I'm not saying I've made a decision or anything, but would it be insanely awkward for you if I were to ask him to come back?" he wanted an answer; no question. "Just to play devil's advocate," tacking on quickly.

Mary really didn't know what to say. She didn't know how she felt anymore. Mark was a missing piece of the puzzle, and she didn't fancy deceiving him for the next ten years or however long he might stay if Peter were to hire him.

Awkward wasn't the word. Scared was the word. Scared of the emotions Mark might bright up if he were to return. He'd put her in the position of being pregnant, and now the position of having miscarried. Just because she'd been foolhardy and careless; desperate for a night of fun – a night to forget.

A night to ignore the way Marshall laughed and swooned over Abigail from across the table. Mark looked at her the way Marshall looked at his new detective. She was a woman. A part of her, however small, yearned for that one look.

"You should do what you think is best…" Mary eventually replied diplomatically. "I shouldn't be a factor in your decision."

Peter was taken aback by such dignity, and chose not to push the envelope further for one day.

"Well, I'll let you know," he decided. "I'll talk to you again if I call him up."

Mark, pending in Albuquerque. Mark, the father of her momentary offspring. As if she didn't have enough to worry about.

XXX

**A/N: Just a little bit of a twist and turn! Plus, I like Peter, so I was glad to use him to get it done.**


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: I know I said a chapter or two ago that I was almost at 100 reviews, but it is truer now than before! I am flattered that all of you continue to read; that is definitely not just talk. Means a lot to me. :)**

XXX

_Mary was in the hospital. The room looked just like the one she'd been confined to for six weeks after she'd been shot in Mesa Ridge. It was nighttime; unnaturally bright stars were shining luminously outside a tiny window to her right. There was also a mammoth moon, so large Mary thought certain she might be able to climb atop its crest and sit on high if she so desired._

_She lay in bed, a feeling of odd contentment lingering in her belly. She was slightly panicky – almost like she might lose her lunch – but it was hardly prominent. There was a tingling, itchy feeling on the tips of her fingers and toes. Aside from that, the blanket was soft as velvet and her pillows were fluffy and encompassing. Half of her wanted to allow the confines to swallow her up and take her away to dreamland. The other half couldn't forget that she was waiting for something. Something so important she couldn't possibly go to sleep. Something special._

_All of a sudden, Mary noticed a nurse bustling around on the window-side of the bed. Had she only just arrived? Where had she been before now? She was fiddling absently with an IV pole the patient – she was a patient, right? – hadn't spotted until this moment. The sight of the drip suddenly heightened her anxiety, as did the prickling needle in her arm._

_What was she doing in the hospital? Had something gone wrong? Was she sick – hurt? Perhaps she had been injured on duty. That could be it, especially since her room looked so like one with which she was already familiar. But, if she was wounded, why wasn't there anyone here? Wasn't anyone worried what had become of her?_

_She was considering asking the silent nurse what had happened, when the door on the opposite side of the room swung open. It was like someone had read her mind and simply appeared to grant whatever wish she commanded. _

_It was Jinx who was joining her. Only, she didn't really look like Jinx as Mary remembered her. Her normally brunette curls were strangely light, as though she'd been sun-kissed. Cheeks that were usually dabbled with rouge were pale and milky; no mask to conceal what usually lurked underneath. It was the outfit that was really odd. She was wearing the pajamas she'd worn after Mary had been abducted; the faux-silk pants and floppy pink sweater. Why would her mother wear such a thing to the hospital?_

_Despite the mistakes, Mary was still sure it was Jinx, and a kind of relief swept her veins at seeing her. She could explain what was going on._

"_Mom, what happened?" she demanded at once, so desperate she almost left her bed. "Where's…?"_

_She didn't finish because Jinx sat in a chair at her bedside, beaming from ear-to-ear despite the haggard appearance. She placed a hand on Mary's forearm and shook her head lovingly, as though she didn't have a care in the world._

"_It's all right, sweetheart," she promised benevolently. "They're bringing him down right now."_

_Him? Him, who? Jinx seemed to think she knew this 'him' and that it would be obvious. But, she couldn't be certain. Him – Marshall? Maybe he was the one who had been injured; perhaps even worse than Mary. They'd probably been together at some sort of stand-off. She must've hit her head._

_Mary didn't know why, but felt safe assuming it was Marshall without asking Jinx for clarification._

"_Is he okay?" her voice was breathless and fearful, and Jinx rubbed her arm soothingly. "Is he all right?" repetition seemed essential._

"_Darling, he's fine…" her mother swore, still wagging her head in that way of delighted disbelief. "He's perfect."_

_Perfect? Well, it was a bizarre term to coin Marshall, injured or otherwise. But then again, Jinx wasn't known for her budding vocabulary. Perhaps she'd simply decided to make the best of a bad situation. _

_Still though. Had she jumped right out of bed to come to the hospital? The pajamas made no sense._

"_I am so proud of you, honey…" she continued when Mary continued to sit blankly, still with that urge to leave the bed to formulate a plan of action. "You were amazing – just amazing…"_

_Now she was really lost. Surely Jinx had not been there. Wherever 'there' was. She was beginning to think it hadn't been a Marshal-related tragedy at all. It felt more personal than that. In any case, her mother wouldn't look so chipper and glowing if there had been any kind of incident. At least, Mary hoped not._

_Throwing caution to the winds, Mary swallowed, "What do you mean? What did I do?"_

_Jinx gave a girlish giggle and kissed her temple. Her touch was comforting on some level. It took Mary back to her youth, when Jinx had merged flesh with flesh as she lay underneath her covers clutching Biscuit. She'd bade her goodnight and always said, 'I love you' twice – once for herself and once for her father, claiming he'd be uttering the same thing if he were there. She'd stopped that game when Mary was ten, pretending no longer. When the longing for James had turned to bitterness._

"_Sweet girl, you're exhausted…" the older presumed with an airy wave of her hand. "And so modest…"_

_Mary was about to scream for someone to tell her what was happening, when her hopes were fulfilled the exact moment the idea entered her mind. The door opened a second time and while Mary expected to see a nurse, that wasn't the case._

_Or was it? She couldn't really tell who the person was. It looked like a man, but she couldn't be certain. He was tall, with a long waistline, but his face seemed to be suspended in the abyss somewhere. She blinked; stared harder and harder, but the features did not come into focus._

"_Here he is angel…"_

_And then she saw. She didn't have to flicker her eyelashes this time. She could glean perfectly well exactly what they'd been waiting for. For the human gliding toward them was carrying a bundled, swaddled being in its arms. The being was stirring, cooing feebly and softly – but it was the sweetest, most miraculous sound in the entire world. It was a baby._

_It was Mary's baby._

_With a swooping kind of liberation, it all made sense. She'd had a baby; a beautiful, flawless baby boy. She hadn't forgotten at all. She'd simply lost track having been apart from him, but now that he was here she recalled every minute and every detail. _

_Jinx stood and seemed to float – to melt into the paneled walls in the background. She was no longer. It was only this man – Mary was pretty sure he was a man – and her son. _

_A slow and even voice from above declared, "Let's go see mama…"_

_And the infant was lowered seamlessly into his mother's waiting, expectant arms. A joy such as Mary had never known swept like a cloud of butterflies into her heart. This boy – this tiny, innocent boy – was hers. All hers. From his rosy, cherub cheeks to his button nose to squinting slits for eyes. His skin was supple to the touch; both feet could fit in the palm of one of Mary's hands. All ten fingers were just calling for her to count and bestow each with a fluttering kiss._

_He squeaked quietly, burrowing his miniscule head into her breast – snuggling and finding the warmth. It was ecstasy. It was bliss. He needed her and she needed him. Exactly the way it was supposed to be._

_Jinx's sugar-sweet voice came from far away, "He's gorgeous, Mary…" she crooned in a kind of echo. "Just like you…"_

_The faceless man continued to stand guard and watch and although Mary couldn't yet ascertain who he was, his form was like a safe harbor as she nestled her son for the first time._

"_Hi handsome…" she whispered, sounding so unlike herself, but she didn't care. "Grandma's right; you are quite a looker…" she stroked his cheek, feeling the swell of paradise within once more._

"_What's his name, sweetheart?"_

_Mary didn't even have to think. The moment she'd been asked, it was as if she'd known all along, and had been waiting for just this minute for the reveal. It slipped from her lips as easily as the moniker of her best friend or sister._

"_Jamie…" she whispered confidently. "His name is Jamie."_

Rain was lashing at the windows. It sounded like someone was heaving bucket after bucket of water at the panes, determined to drench the glass or die trying. It was pitch dark in Mary's bedroom; so dark she could hardly make out the shapes of her dresser and closet. The sound of the rain hammering against the windows was the only thing she registered in the first few minutes of stirring back to awareness.

But, the longer she laid there on her back, listening to the storm wage its war against the house, the more she remembered about what she'd been seeing before she'd awoken.

In truth, it was harder to recall the longer Mary tried to block it out. She couldn't see everything; it was slipping through her fingers like sand through the hourglass. She rolled over to try and get a glimpse of the clock, but when she did she indexed that her stomach pains were back. Somehow, the preoccupation of her mind had left them aside, but the movement had forced her to acknowledge that the discomfort was definitely there.

Contrary to the bursts of convulsions she'd experienced before the miscarriage, this was a heavy, persistent cramping that didn't go away even as she shifted beneath her blankets. It wasn't bad enough to concern her, but still, soreness at four-thirty in the morning didn't make it easy for her to go back to sleep. Mary realized at once this was probably what had actually woken her, not the dream.

The dream.

Mary cursed her eternally mixed-up subconscious for making her concentrate on such things. More frustrating was the fact that she was forgetting the pieces of the puzzle as quickly as she'd watched them in her mind's-eye. She'd been in the hospital. Jinx had been there for a moment or two, and then the baby. A baby boy. A baby boy named Jamie.

The irony of such a name was not lost on Mary, when you considered her father's title. She made a mental note never to tell anyone that her brain had cooked up such a half-assed fantasy. She was almost glad for the fact that the more vivid details were vanishing. All she saw was her mother, (why was she shimmering like heaven's light itself was shining on her?) and the face of her son.

No. Not her son, she told herself as she rolled over and sprawled on her belly in attempts to squash the constrictions. She didn't have a son, nor did she have a daughter. Jamie was just some made-up child she had fabricated in her delirium before bedtime. That was it. Case closed.

When lounging in a backward-eagle-spread didn't work, Mary tried hunching her knees so she was curled in a ball, desperate to return to slumber. But, no matter the position, she couldn't get comfortable and she couldn't get the images of that baby out of her head. The hospital had been so bright and it was so depressing in her dark bedroom. The sheets of a downpour only seemed to be getting louder. Crackles of lightning and thunder accompanied the monsoon every few minutes.

Maybe Marshall would have some idea why her stomach was contracting again. She'd been warned against after pains following the D and C, but had figured since she'd escaped the day without a twinge she was out of the woods. Although still unconcerned, she figured Marshall would have a more concrete answer and reached for her cell phone on the end table.

Halfway through dialing, she stopped. What on earth was she thinking? It was almost five A.M. Where was her common sense? Marshall would be asleep. She couldn't call him, no matter how baffled she might be; no matter how she might ordinarily relish the idea of drawing him from his bed in the wee hours of the morning.

But, something about her couldn't ignore the gnawing isolation she felt the longer she lay secluded in bed. Days before, she would've called herself clingy, but that thought didn't even enter her mind as she came up with the best consolation available. Flipping her keyboard around, nearly blinded by the lighted screen on her Blackberry, she composed the briefest of texts.

_Call me later._

Somewhat boosted by her own astuteness, Mary cast her phone back to the table and rolled onto her back again. She had the thought of Marshall's voice in the morning to soothe her, and was therefore surprised when the cell started vibrating not five minutes later.

Blearily, she groped once more and answered without bothering with the ID.

"Hello?" her voice was deep with sleep and she shifted her pillow upward so she didn't have to crane her neck.

Marshall's tone floated through the other end, far thicker than Mary's was. It was as though his throat were clogged with something. He sounded half-dead; words slurring together, but he was unwavering nonetheless.

"Hey…" he droned fuzzily. "Is everything okay?"

Mary gaped soundlessly for a moment, unsure how to respond. She really hadn't intended for him to ring her up that second, despite wanting to talk to him. That was why she'd reverted to the text. She'd actually tried to be considerate for once.

"You didn't have to call right now…" she might as well say what she was thinking. "It's four-thirty in the morning. I sent the text so you'd see it when you got up. I didn't think you'd hear it."

"Bionic-hearing; that is what I possess…" Marshall drawled, and Mary could hear covers rustling on his end too. "I had my cell on vibrate, and I was coming out of REM regardless…"

"Uh-huh…" Mary pretended to be annoyed per usual, but she was actually embarrassed. "Well, it's nothing…" she made a solid stab at backtracking.

This wasn't going to fly, "We do not typically text one another before sunrise," he reminded her swiftly. "Tell me what is going on. I am already awake and I forgive you for shaking me from my somewhat-peaceful slumber."

"I just…"

Mary sighed, running a hand over her eyes and trying to think over the smattering of the rain on her window. As she contemplated, a fork of lightning lit the room even behind her curtains. How she'd managed to sleep at all with such a racket was beyond her. Apparently Marshall had obtained the same before she'd burst through his snoozing.

Facts were probably best, she ultimately decided. Even if she'd had more than enough of Marshall seeing her vulnerable side.

"I was having trouble getting back to sleep because my stomach is bothering me," casual as she could muster this early in the day. "But, it's no big deal."

"Bothering you in what fashion?" Marshall inquired, sounding a little more coherent now and turning on his doctor voice. "Vomiting kind of upset or hurting kind of upset?"

"It…it's kind of sore…" she conceded, more shameful by the second. "But, I can handle it. Really; I was only going to ask you in the morning if this generally happens after…" she broke off. "You know."

"Well…" there was the sound of more movement from the other end. "Didn't Doctor Wolk say you might experience some discomfort after the fact?"

"Yeah…"

"Do you still have those pills she sent you home with?" he continued. "You should take some; they might take the edge off."

Mary had wanted to avoid the drugs, still worried it might cause her to start throwing up. Apparently, Marshall was going to read her mind in this area as well, because he barreled onward before she could say anything.

"I really don't think you need to be alarmed about regurgitation at this point," he spouted in his scholarly way. "The anesthetic has long since worn off. Your system should treat it the same as any other medication."

Mary was about to say he had an answer for everything, and make him feel like a nerd for it, when she heard the opening and closing of what sounded like cupboards. Then there was a noise like a chair moving across the floor, and she became too curious to hold back.

"What are you doing?" she asked skeptically. "Has some early morning construction crew showed up at your front door?"

"No…" Marshall chuckled softly. "I just went out to the kitchen. I didn't want to wake Abigail."

Mary felt like someone had just taken a swift punch right at her gut, which didn't help the swelling ache. All the wind had been knocked out of her, making her feel wheezing and full of dread, much as she had in her dream before the baby had arrived. She suddenly wanted to cry, and yet couldn't fathom what for. The sting in her abdomen was uncomfortable, but hardly cringe-worthy. The dream had been unsettling, but nothing she couldn't forget.

Abigail was sleeping over at Marshall's? Until this moment, she'd forgotten he'd asked her about the pair of them moving in together. The thought left her feeling heartbroken, though also mystified. Why should she care? Marshall wasn't her boyfriend.

Nonetheless, he seemed to sense he'd said the wrong thing.

"We had a later night in Nob Hill than we originally thought," he tried to rectify with little success. "Is all."

What did he expect her to say? Confiding in him about her frequent throbbings was bad enough. But now, she knew there was no way she could blurt out the contents of the hallucinations she'd had minutes before. Because that was exactly what they were – hallucinations. Fabrications. Not to be misconstrued with real life.

"You'd better head back to bed then…" she offered in a low voice that likely did not conceal how devastated she felt. "You shouldn't be up talking to me in the middle of the night."

"Morning, technically," Marshall corrected. "And, I make my own decisions, and my decision was to see that you were all right. You are my friend. That's what friends do."

It seemed Mary had been reminded of this fact a lot lately. When she'd tried to apologize to Marshall in the operating room, when she'd tried talking to Jinx, and now this. Everyone seemed to expect her to realize her and Marshall were thick as thieves. Why did she doubt it all of a sudden?

"Well, you answered my question…" she tried to sunny up her attitude. "I don't have anything else to tell you, so you might as well try to get some more sleep."

The silence convinced her he wasn't fooled. When had she become this dependant? Where was her trademark phrase, 'I can take care of myself?' She hated to think she'd lost the ability to rely on herself and only herself.

"Are you sure that's all?" Marshall pressed delicately.

The compassionate nature of his voice at this hour was enough to push all reliance completely from Mary's mind. She could worry about her change of manner later. He sounded so sincere. She yearned for sincerity right now, above almost anything else.

"I had…kind of a weird dream," hoping she sounded offhand.

"What was it about?"

She hedged at once, "I don't really remember. But, it was just a dream."

"I would be more than happy to school you in the deeper meanings of one's subconscious if you feel like sharing," he quipped, and Mary recognized the easygoing nature of his voice. "If nothing else, I am sure you would claim that a surefire way to get you back to sleep."

Mary managed a laugh that was only partially forced, chewing on her thumbnail in the shadows. Now that she'd been on the phone more than two minutes, its handy light was gone and so she was swept in the dusk. Something about the sound of Marshall's joking in her ear when she could see and hear nothing else was bringing her heart rate down to normal.

"Yeah, your psychological monotone never fails to put me down," she replied. "You should record all your professor facts and put them on tape. That way, I'll never have to worry about insomnia."

"Very droll, inspector; very droll…" he dictated, clearly pleased he had improved her mood. "Really quite witty."

"Yeah, right," Mary scoffed. "I suppose Abigail enjoys all your educational riffraff, does she?" she inquired, not sure how she had reverted to the girlfriend once again. "After listening to her swoon over your spiel on geologic rocks, I wouldn't be surprised."

"I feel quite lucky to have a woman that _appreciates_ my mind for what it is," Marshall declared. "Someday, you'll need me and my instructive expertise."

Mary grinned, "I already need you, doofus."

Her heart stopped almost as quickly as the words were out of her mouth. Had she really just said that? Judging from the stillness through the speaker, she definitely had. Blinking fast and trying to regroup, Mary formulated a good cover. Recent defenseless nature aside, she couldn't have Marshall reading more into a simple phrase than was intended.

"That…that didn't come out right…"

"What was wrong with it?" Marshall breezed through her defense without a second thought. "I need you – you need me. It is hardly a far-fetched concept."

"I…I guess…"

Her feeble excuses tapered away into nothingness, and the short-lived seclusion they had created by making jokes was gone. It was replaced by the same thin covering they'd been exposed to at the onset; Mary's fears spread all over the table and Marshall working, as always, to make them go away. She wanted to go back to teasing.

"You should take the pills," he suggested once more to get her mind off it. "Really, they'll make you feel better."

This was a long shot, Mary presumed. While they might ease her physical pain, the state of her brain was in deep suspicion anymore. If it weren't, she wouldn't be calling Marshall at four-thirty asking stupid questions about her internal organisms, as if that was what she really cared about.

But, she appeased him regardless of how she really felt, "Okay. I will."

"Good," he proclaimed, satisfied. "Try to get some rest. Turn off your overworked thought processes for one night."

Mary sunk deeper into her pillows and sighed, "Can't promise anything," with a hint of amusement.

Marshall ignored that and touched upon one last thing before hanging up, before leaving Mary to her own devices until morning.

"Are you sure you don't want to tell me about your dream?"

Yes. No. Not really. The rational part of Mary – the part that had existed up until the miscarriage – would never have confided such an outlandish figment of make believe in him. She'd have deemed it ludicrous and forgotten about it. A portion of that Mary still lingered in her veins, but she was having an easier time telling it to shut up since yesterday. Her emotions had been all out-of-whack and she longed, dreadfully, for the days of her former self.

"I really don't remember all of it…" she finally whispered honestly, disheartened by how weak she came across. "I was in the hospital, and Jinx was there."

That would have to suffice. Mentioning 'Jamie' was out of the realm of possibilities.

"Hmm…" Marshall said thoughtfully. "Interesting."

Aside from the infant, Jinx was the single part of the dream (nightmare?) that Mary couldn't get off her mind. The way she seemed to glimmer; so prominent and vibrant in every way. She was the only piece that loitered after everything else had faded when Mary had woken up.

"Marshall…?"

It wasn't often Mary made a decision of this magnitude on the spot, but her mouth had a mind of its own.

"Would you tell my mom?"

She nearly didn't hear herself over the howling wind and splashing of the rain, but she didn't need to. Although her anxiety only peaked with the thought of Jinx knowing her secret, deciding to let her in on it served a dual-purpose. She would be able to quit stressing about it, whatever her mother's reaction. It also made it sound like she had a more concrete reason for phoning Marshall.

And, he didn't even ask for clarification.

"I sure will," he whispered sweetly. "I'll give her a call and see if she wants to have lunch today or tomorrow."

Mary gulped past the lump in her throat, discomfited at her own cowardice, but also moved that Marshall would do her such an enormous favor.

"Thank-you."

"My pleasure," dauntless to the very end. "Give yourself a break, Mare. Swallow the meds and crash out. Tomorrow's Saturday. Sleep in."

Mary had nothing else to tell him at this point, and was only reminded that he needed to get to bed himself. Abigail, she reflected with a lurch, was waiting.

"I'll do my best," she murmured. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Mary."

XXX

**A/N: Funny thing about me and dream sequences. When I imagine them in my head, I am always worried they'll be boring or seem like too much of a cliché; I tell myself over and over I'm not going to use them, but inevitably I do. A way to get the story told, I guess!**


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: You all got me to 100 and beyond! I am still so honored – I thank you from the bottom of my heart!**

XXX

Jinx responded to Marshall's offer to have lunch faster than he would've thought. He had anticipated both Saturday and Sunday being busy – surely she taught ballet on Saturdays. But no, when he called at straight up ten o'clock in the morning, she informed him she was wide open and would be 'thrilled' to join him for a bite. Marshall wasn't sure why this would be; he and Jinx had always gotten along, but they were not exactly close. Perhaps she was just tickled about 'catching up' which was the excuse he'd used in order to get her to come along.

She was already in a plastic booth at his favorite Mexican restaurant when he walked through the door. He ought to have known by the woman's excitement over the phone that she'd beat him to the establishment.

"Over here, Marshall!" Jinx called, waggling her fingers over the heads of curious bystanders, as if he couldn't see her.

He smiled sheepishly nonetheless and began to feel guilty that he was meeting her for such an unfortunate occasion. He hated that he was going to puncture her cheerful mood with the news about Mary. She clearly had no idea.

"Hi…" he greeted her and she stood up, standing on tiptoe to peck his cheek and give him a hearty pat on the back. "It's good to see you; I'm glad you could spare the afternoon."

"Oh, of course; of course…" Jinx chirped benevolently and regained her seat. "I already ordered some tortilla chips and salsa…" she indicated a giant silver bowl full of the snack. "If I eat them, I don't think about the margaritas I'm not having," she added with a shaky laugh.

Marshall didn't know Jinx to joke about her alcoholism, since Mary was always on the verge of predicting a relapse. It appeared almost two years sober gave you a sense of humor about such things. He was glad for the reminder too, because his preoccupation with how to drop the bomb had him wanting to order a drink of his own.

"They look delicious…" he commented, sitting down and taking a handful, crunching loudly. "I hope I'm not late…" he glanced at his watch, but saw that he was punctual as usual.

"No-no…" Jinx assured him. "The studio is only a few blocks away; I finished up my only morning session and decided to come on over."

"Splendid," Marshall nodded, hoping he looked perfectly cavalier. "I am glad to know I did not keep you waiting too long."

Jinx dipped a chip in a pool of salsa and took her turn at chowing down. For a few minutes, they munched in silence, marred only by Marshall taking a moment to order a Coke. He knew the salt on the chips would make him thirsty, not to mention his mounting unease. When he'd offered Mary the opportunity to skirt this particular conversation, he hadn't given much thought to what he would say. While he had no wishes of going back on his word, he was also very grateful he was skilled with words and could 'wing it' as best as possible.

"I am so glad you called, Marshall…" Jinx finally broke the quiet after they had perused their menus and folded them at the end of the table. "I've been meaning to get together for ages, because I wanted to thank you."

Marshall was stumped and furrowed his brow to indicate as much.

"Thank me?" he proposed slowly. "I admit I am not aware of anything I have done to deserve approval."

Jinx gave a high-pitched giggle and wiped her mouth on her napkin before clarifying.

"Well, I don't know that we needed have lunch to discuss it…" she specified. "But, Mary told me the other night that you have been helping her out a lot lately, and I can't tell you how much I appreciate that."

Still, Marshall was not entirely sold. He couldn't discern from Jinx's statement what exactly Mary had told her. He could bet it was nothing too in-depth, but judging from the warm smile on the woman's face, she was simply glad to have been confided in, no matter how small. Marshall knew there had been many years where the daughter had refused to gossip with her mother about anything.

"Mary said that?" he was an expert at darting here and there among an issue. "Did she mention anything specific?" he ate another chip.

"No, nothing specific," Jinx amended, but Marshall could tell by her sudden eagerness she might be hoping for just that. "But, with things at the studio having picked up, I haven't had a chance to see her as much as usual…"

He couldn't imagine Mary was upset about that, especially with the way Brandi was badgering, but he kept quiet.

"I'm just pleased she has someone like you to look out for her," the brunette concluded soundly. "Mary is so particular about her feelings. Even if she can't share with me, I'm glad she can share with somebody."

This was an excellent segue, Marshall reflected. He hardly could've asked for anything better. Still, he was perplexed by Mary's willingness to drop a few hints to Jinx, considering she'd been so against the idea of revealing anything to do with the baby. His partner had been seeking comfort more than he'd realized.

"As am I," he replied swiftly. "Although, I hardly think I deserve so much credit. Mary is my partner as well as my friend; I am simply doing my duty…"

Jinx smacked a hand on the table so loudly that Marshall jumped and the bowl of chips nearly went flying. At first, he thought she might be killing a buzzing fly – at the very least, he assumed she was angry. But, that wasn't it at all; she was actually smiling with a kind of suppressed triumph.

"I told her that!" she exclaimed almost boastfully. "That's what I told her!"

"Um…" Marshall wanted to make sure he wasn't completely mind-boggled. "Told her what; I'm sorry?"

"Oh…" Jinx giggled in a slightly embarrassed way and backed down. "She just worries she's taking up too much of your time…" her voice lowered considerably, as though Mary might be listening in. "I tried to explain that friends aren't concerned with that sort of thing," a flyaway wave of her hand.

Now Marshall was curious; the reason he'd invited the mother here almost completely driven from his mind. Mary was fretting that she sucked up his precious free time? He couldn't fathom any world in which she would be thrilled with Jinx sharing this, but it was still valuable information. He made a mental note to convince his partner otherwise in some sort of unobtrusive way.

"Well, I take great delight in helping to keep the friendship afloat," he decided, earning a teasing smile from Jinx at his philosophic wording. "It is not as though this is a one way street."

He wondered if Mary would say the same, but he considered her as much a friend to him as he was to her.

"Of course," Jinx gave a nod while Marshall took a long drink of his Coke. "She mentioned you're seeing someone too," she raised her eyebrows suggestively, clearly on the edge of her seat waiting for a little bit of scandal; scandal her daughter surely wasn't allotting.

The man felt himself go red and grinned hastily, "Yes, the rumors are true," he proclaimed. "Abigail. I met her through a friend from work. It hasn't been long, but I am optimistic."

Was he though? His mind was so rarely fixed upon Abigail these days. When their relationship was supposed to be revving up, it was expertly slowing down. The episode with Mary had pushed his theoretical-girlfriend to the back of his mind, despite how he'd tried to include her the night before with their little sleepover.

"You deserve someone special, Marshall…" Jinx told him unashamedly, reaching across the table and patting his hand. It was cool from where she'd been clutching her own glass of iced tea. "You really do."

Nothing else to say, he cast her a humble half-smile, "Thank-you."

"What is Abigail like?" she proposed, clearly not noticing that Marshall wished to end that portion of the conversation with his one-word response. "If you met her through someone from work she must be in law enforcement."

"A detective," he bobbed his head, glad for the ability to dole out simple facts. "Beyond that, I can't tell you much as far as work goes; you know how it is…"

"Right…" Jinx confirmed, but Marshall noticed her smile falter a little.

"She's…wonderful," he went on, although couldn't help observing the note of autonomy in his own voice. "She's very intelligent; very upbeat; quite sweet…"

His tone filtered off; suddenly he sounded like he was gushing. He also realized, with a painful jab to his chest, that he had described Abigail as everything Mary wasn't. Mary, who was oftentimes cynical and brash without concern for those around her. Still, he maintained his belief that Mary's occasionally-bad-attitude did not make her a bad person. She was as moral and centered as anyone he knew.

"As I said, I'm optimistic," he finally concluded, munching a few more chips just for something to do with his hands.

And as the silence fell between them with Jinx's final nod; the only noise the hustle and bustle of other patrons enjoying their lunch, Marshall knew he was not going to be able to stall much longer. He had unfortunately botched his chance at using Jinx's transition a few statements before, and was now going to have to bring up the miscarriage out of nowhere. She seemed so gleeful about this unexpected get-together, and he hated to ruin it.

Having to break the news was hardly easy, but he hadn't thought about Jinx's reaction to it either, which seemed to be Mary's biggest concern.

"I'm sure our orders will be here soon," Jinx interjected quietly with a lovable smile.

Marshall agreed with a nod of his own, unable to believe this woman hadn't yet asked why he'd called her for an impromptu lunch. Well, she was about to find out.

"Jinx…"

He tried to sound very steadfast; not resigned or submissive.

"There is actually something I would like to discuss with you…" he began slowly. "More like…tell you," he corrected himself. "That's why I wanted to have lunch."

Jinx fed him a quizzical look, abandoning the appetizers and sitting further back in the booth. The closeness between them seemed to vanish. Although Marshall still felt the bond coming from this being that had given him the best friend he'd ever had, the air was thinner and more mandatory all of a sudden.

"Oh?" she batted her eyelashes. "I didn't realize."

"Well, no; you wouldn't," Marshall attempted to give her-her due. "I didn't mention over the phone; I certainly didn't want you to think anything was wrong."

However Jinx defined 'wrong' was still up for grabs.

"Nothing is wrong then?" she whispered in a more timid voice, peering at him through wide green eyes that exactly matched Mary's. "With Mary?"

"Nothing dangerous or precarious; I can assure you of that," he promised, shifting forward on the plastic since she was now so far away. "But it is Mary I wanted to talk to you about."

He could see Jinx swallow before she gave a reluctant, "…Okay."

Marshall took a deep breath with her approval, hoping their dishes did not arrive now; interruption was not what they needed. In the rear of his brain, he wondered how it was so easy for him to give witnesses – perfect strangers – bad news, day after day, but he was having difficulty with an acquaintance so personal. He supposed that was why – because it was so personal.

"It's probably best…" he prefaced quickly. "…If you let me finish before you ask any questions," now he sounded too professional. "Just so you know the whole story."

This time, Jinx didn't do anything but jerk her head to indicate consent, and Marshall knew he had better hurry. The last thing he wanted to do was make her worry; he imagined there was nothing worse than thinking your child was somehow in peril – physical, emotional, or otherwise.

"I don't know if you're aware, but Mark Stuber was here in town a few months ago."

"Yes-yes, I knew that…" Jinx said eagerly, obviously glad to be able to latch onto something; to find common ground.

"Well, he and Mary had dinner together – Abigail and I had dinner with them actually…"

When Jinx didn't respond, he was forced to continue without a break, wringing his hands in his lap.

"And, Mark and Mary spent the night together."

The words fell from his lips like poison; like someone had pulled them with a crane, slowly and painstakingly; every ounce of effort pooled into getting them out. He had never stated anything so intimate about Mary in his life – not to her, and certainly not to her mother. He reminded himself she had asked him to take care of this. She had to have known he'd give details, and this kept him from thinking she would be mortified.

Jinx appeared rather nonplussed, although there was a certain maternal quality that lingered in her eyes that said she disapproved of such a choice. Although Marshall had taken to Mark, from what Mary had told him, Jinx had never been much of a fan.

"A couple months after the fact – after Mark went home – Mary received some news…"

Before Marshall could go on, Jinx had leapt back to the front of the booth, her ribcage cutting into the rickety table. The inspector was rather alarmed, fully prepared to let her say whatever she was thinking, and she hardly disappointed.

The voice was hushed and reeked of anticipatory incredulity, "Is Mary pregnant?"

Marshall was beyond stunned. How in the world had she guessed? This was a woman who five minutes before thought their gathering was simply catch-up – her and Marshall didn't 'gather' under any ordinary circumstances. But here, she proved her intuition was not totally shoddy. Maybe it was a woman thing.

"Is that why she's been avoiding me? Is that why she was sick the other night? Oh my God; I'm going to be a grandmother…"

She'd jumped the gun before Marshall could stop her, hands flurrying all around her face in utter astonishment – but ecstatic astonishment. He felt crushed about having to destroy even a moment of her happiness, but the truth was the truth.

"Well, Jinx…" he managed to cut her off just before the tears began to flow. "I am afraid that is not quite the case," trying not to sound too melancholy. "Not anymore."

The halt was pronounced; she stopped mid-flutter, fingers settling in her lap with a look of dawning comprehension.

"What do you mean not anymore?"

Now or never. Good, bad, or ugly; there was no turning back. He said a quick prayer that Jinx would understand.

"Mary was roughly fourteen to sixteen weeks along until Thursday. I had to take her to the OBGYN's office because she was having substantial lower abdomen pain, and she – we – found out that she had lost the baby."

He longed to turn away; to forget the look of sheer disappointment on Jinx's face. The change in mood was overwhelming; all the potential elation had evaporated in mere seconds. Although Marshall was not one to become uncomfortable with silences, he felt this one needed some disruption.

"I'm sorry," he added cordially. "Mary asked if I would tell you. I think because she hadn't mentioned the pregnancy she was unsure how to approach you about it."

In spite of the complete turnaround, Jinx appeared to come to rather quickly; it almost gave Marshall whiplash. She put a hand to her mouth, and he understood that her eyes were looking shiny for a different reason this time. He hoped she wouldn't lose it all together, but right now she was too consumed to do much.

"Oh…" she breathed, muffled beneath her fingers. The hand eventually floated away, "Oh…my poor Mary."

Pity wasn't usually what Mary was looking for, but to Marshall this was like a bullhorn. Jinx felt badly for her daughter. She felt sorry for her. That meant she empathized. She wasn't angry. At least not yet.

"She must feel terrible…" Jinx went on, still speaking quite softly. There was sudden skepticism, "Doesn't she?"

"Well, yes…" Marshall conceded. "It's been a little helter-skelter, after only two days. Sometimes she seems all right and other times…" he shrugged, downing another gulp of Coke. "I've actually been rather pleased in some respects. While I hate seeing her upset, she's been very good about not avoiding this state of affairs; I tend to think that means she will heal a little better."

He wanted to give Jinx a sense of hope, even though he still had a few reservations about Mary's way of handling the miscarriage. Part of what he'd said was true, but he did bother himself now and again in terms of whether Mary was _too_ troubled. He didn't want to lose his rugged best friend, and felt certain Mary wouldn't want to lose that side of herself either. It was a sticky situation, one he was going to have to analyze more in-depth since Jinx was speaking again.

"I…I can't imagine she was…" she hesitated, obviously uncomfortable, but Marshall nodded to urge her forward. "I mean…" a second pause. "…That she was _overjoyed_ with being pregnant to start with, especially with it being unplanned…"

"I admit she was a trifle surly in the beginning…"

He was going to rectify his statement, but Jinx was anxious to head him off before he could begin.

"That doesn't mean she wouldn't have accepted it!" she burst somewhat loudly, and was careful to back down. "She…she…she doesn't like change, Mary…"

"Believe me, I know…" Marshall said an undertone.

"But, she would've made the best of it; she wouldn't have wanted something like this to happen…"

Marshall understood at once what was going on here. Jinx was worried that Mary's brazen exterior made her seem cold or heartless; that people would think she'd have no reaction to something like a miscarriage. Her best friend knew this to be untrue and intended to make it known at once.

"Of course she wouldn't," he reassured Jinx tenderly. "I know Mary; taking care of people is what she does best."

Jinx gave him a weak smile, running her nails through her already wind-tossed curls.

"It wasn't personal – her not telling you that she was pregnant," he figured he might as well get this out of the way while he had the chance. "Honestly Jinx; she was just inundated and trying to sort it out. She didn't tell anybody…"

"She told you," those deep jade eyes found his again, but the statement wasn't made as accusation; it was more with fondness.

"Well, not really," he admitted reasonably. "I guessed, actually. I see her every day; she would've had a tough time hiding it from me."

Jinx accepted this response and went quiet again while Marshall tried to figure out something a little more soothing to say to her. He'd neglected to ask Mary if she'd wanted him to mention the original plan of adoption, but decided he would leave that out of it for now. It wasn't so important, really. She hadn't been far enough along to have seriously considered it yet, and had just said yesterday she wouldn't have gone through with it. Not that Marshall would've been offended if she had.

"Marshall, I…" Jinx folded her arms on the tabletop, fixing him with an affectionate stare that didn't conceal her sadness. "Thank-you for letting me know. I really appreciate it."

And she smiled again, with more of an effort this time. The tall man reflected that she sounded a lot like Mary had when she'd thanked him for accompanying her to the doctor's office and then the hospital. And as though Jinx were reading his mind, she went on, reaching and patting Marshall's arm as she did so.

"I'd be lying if I said I don't wish I could've been there for Mary when this happened…"

Marshall cast a compassionate nod, closing his eyes.

"But, like I said before, if it can't be me; I'm glad she has you."

He was more moved this time than the last, and couldn't let Jinx think that she couldn't play any role in this scenario whatsoever. He found her recognition admirable, and was thrilled he was going to be able to tell Mary she'd taken the news so selflessly.

"She needs you too," he promised; not a sliver of it untrue. "She really does, whether she says so or not. I think you being aware and able to talk to her will be an enormous help."

Jinx sighed feebly and cast her eyes downward, "I'm not so sure. Mary and I have never been very good at talking," she fiddled with the remains of the chips in their bowl. "He's been gone thirty years, but she misses her father for that sort of thing. She always felt like she could tell him anything."

Marshall didn't intend to get into a discussion of James, thinking it was far too big a subject to take on in the here and now.

"But, she has you," he reminded her readily, not wanting her to doubt her role as a parent. "And from what she tells me, she has a much easier time conversing with you since…" he gestured up and down her frame, doing his best to appear nonchalant. "Sobriety."

He worried for a split second if he'd crossed the line by bringing that up, but Jinx made no indication that she was insulted. On the contrary, she seemed to take his words to heart – words Marshall was vindicated to hear. Words he hoped would go beyond talk and into action.

"Well, I may not have been the perfect mother when Mary was growing up…" her voice became stronger and more confident with each letter that escaped. "But, I hope I can be what she needs now."

Marshall nodded firmly and picked up his nearly empty Coke glass, raising it to meet Jinx's iced tea. With a clink, they as much as shook on it.

"I know you can."

XXX

**A/N: Another chapter with Marshall on his lonesome (well, plus Jinx). I went back and forth on how to write this; hopefully it reads as realistic!**


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: I am so glad that Marshall's conversation with Jinx seemed plausible – but then, I hope every chapter seems plausible!**

XXX

Mary had never spent a Saturday doing so little. She woke up late due to her restless night, and when she did she felt puffy and swollen around her middle and her eyes, oddly enough. She felt a little more productive after she washed some dirty dishes and vacuumed up those dust bunnies. And, being the weekend, she wasn't obligated to go to work anyway, and so she didn't consider herself quite so lazy. Still, she almost couldn't forgive herself for relishing the prospect of loafing around. The rain had stopped, but only a weak, pithy sunshine penetrated the room; leaving her gloomy and dismal, such were the enormous puddles in her driveway.

It wasn't until considerably past lunch, when she was mindlessly browsing the newspaper at the island, that her cell phone went off. She was ready for the distraction and seized at it once, nearly knocking the paper to the floor in her haste.

"Hello?"

"Hi…" came Marshall's voice, less sleepy than the early morning before and putting Mary in an even better mood. "How is the harmony on the home front?"

Mary hunched her shoulders and took a sip of the 7-Up she was drinking, "I wouldn't call it harmony. Doesn't that require more than one person?"

"Traditionally, yes," Marshall agreed. "You are one up on me for once. Very intellectual of you, inspector," he sounded rather impressed.

"What? Just because I know the meaning of the word 'harmony?'" she inquired. "That's hardly Harvard material."

Marshall chuckled, but didn't elaborate. It was obvious there was a reason he had phoned, and didn't even spare a moment to ask more seriously how Mary was doing. He powered through, knowing she usually hated any conversation that was long and drawn out.

"Listen Mare, I will dispense with the forward here," he told her. "I thought you should know that I spoke to Jinx."

She was suddenly on high alert. She'd been rather dazed that morning, both from her strange dream and from spending a half hour awake in the middle of the night talking to her partner. She'd managed to push Jinx from her mind; sure Marshall would inform her _before_ he spoke the woman, not after.

"Already?" she sat up so suddenly on the barstool that she almost slipped off the end. "How come you didn't call me? She usually teaches on Saturdays…"

"I was somewhat surprised as well," Marshall admitted. "But, she had the afternoon free and so we had lunch. And I explained everything," he didn't answer why he hadn't let her know first.

Mary swallowed uncertainly, "And?"

There wasn't even the merest insinuation of a pause. There was no wavering whatsoever. She had been positive Marshall would consider beforehand; he would preface her mother's feedback with a lot of sugarcoating. But, that wasn't what happened at all.

"She was very sympathetic," he revealed without qualms, in a low and decidedly gentle voice. "A little shocked, I'll grant you. But, she wasn't offended at all, Mary. She really wants to help you."

Mary wasn't sure whether this was good or bad. She gnawed so hard on her frequently chewed thumbnail that she almost broke the skin. While she was hugely relieved she wasn't going to have to duke it out with Jinx, she also wasn't sure she could take a lot of head-patting. Jinx wasn't the easiest person to judge.

"What if she doesn't know how to help me?" she whispered fearfully, surprising both herself and Marshall.

"What do you mean?" concern inched its way into his already calming tone. "Why wouldn't you think she could help you? I thought that's why you wanted her in on this."

But, Mary was beginning to feel unnecessarily confused. She hadn't honestly considered the possibility that Jinx wouldn't behave totally thoughtlessly and want to assist her. Now she didn't know what was coming down the pike and it scared her. She'd had enough doubt the past few days to last a lifetime.

"I did…" she began, but with no conviction at all.

"So?" Marshall pushed.

Mary just stammered stupidly, "I…I don't know…"

Her fellow inspector clearly sensed he'd thrown her and hurried to talk her down. He had to remember this was Mary. While she might be displaying more kindhearted strokes as of late, it hardly she meant she had transformed completely. She was still a woman who was often afraid to show her most exposed side – be it to him or her own flesh and blood.

"Mary, slow down…" he advised, as he could still hear her mouthing through the phone. "Jinx is your mother. She just wants to be a shoulder for you, should you need it. Don't start trying to find fault with that."

But there were plenty of things wrong with that. How could she bawl with her mother if she didn't know what she was bawling about? She doubted Marshall had mentioned the adoption plan, and suddenly couldn't ask fast enough.

"But, did you tell her I was planning to ship the baby off to some Godforsaken country six thousand miles from here?"

"You are being highly overdramatic," Marshall declared evenly. "Every time you bring that up, you make it sound like you were going to leave this child in a basket on somebody's doorstep. It isn't so black-and-white."

"Maybe it is," she retorted in an attempt to sound sneering, but it didn't come off the way she'd hoped. Marshall could likely detect the note of insecurity in the warbling of her words.

"Don't be stubborn, now," he suggested quietly; never raising his timbre; never sounding angry or fed-up. "We went through this yesterday; you have to stop beating yourself up…"

"Don't remind me about yesterday!" she suddenly snapped, tears springing to her eyes just at the thought. If he was going to make demands on her feelings, she could say what she wanted. "I just want to forget…" she covered her face with her hand, unsure how this conversation had gone south so quickly.

She was supposed to be happy Jinx had taken so humanly to the news, but instead she was frightened. Was she really that scared of discussing her emotions? It was a sad state of affairs.

"I just want to forget that I ever…"

She was unable to finish, remembering not just the day before on the roof, but the night before as well. She was invading Marshall's life; monopolizing his time and his energy and although she craved his attention, she couldn't continue to hoard it. She was messing everything up for him.

His next bout of understanding didn't help her unstable mental capacity.

"Mary, you don't have to be embarrassed," he insisted softly after a few moments' silence.

She bit hard on her bottom lip, willing herself not to cry. She had cried more in the last two days than she had in her entire life. What was wrong with her?

"Just because you didn't think you wanted to be a mother at first glance doesn't mean you haven't lost something…"

Mary internally begged him to stop talking, or she was going to be leaking all over the newspaper. Initially, she thought their trademark ESP might have worked, because there was a vacillation before he went on. When he opened his mouth again, however, it was clear why he had hedged his bets.

"Maybe this is a sign…" a tentative whisper. "A sign that maybe you're ready for something more; ready to be a parent…"

"No, I'm not," she interrupted forcefully, wetness mingling in the corners of her lids while she fought to stay in control.

How could Marshall have said that? Didn't he know she was far from capable in terms of motherhood?

"I'm not. I can't be," she worked very hard to be direct when it came to this. "That's all there is to it."

Marshall was clearly disappointed. She could hear him sigh through the speaker as the buttons on her phone became slick with sticky droplets she wasn't able to keep at bay.

"It isn't an insult," he clarified. "It's a compliment. You're a woman, Mary; lots of women want to be mothers."

"I don't want to talk about this," she said tightly, nearly speaking over him. "I never wanted a child; you know that. It's why Raph and I broke up for Christ's sake. I can't all of a sudden decide to be someone I'm not."

Real mothers kept their babies safe. Real mothers nurtured their children. Real mothers made sure they entered the world unharmed and unspoiled. Not like Mary.

"But, it is perfectly natural to change your mind…" Marshall wasn't giving up, and if he'd been standing in front of her, Mary would've had to resist hitting him to get him to shut up. "Your mind-set is different now. You had this life-altering change and then it was just taken from you…"

He could not have picked a worse phrase to use. All those feelings of violation that she'd experienced after the surgery came rushing back in a fleet. The breach of her privacy; the lack of consent for her rickety emotions; people virtually stealing something that had belonged to her and only her. She knew it was impractical to think that way; knew it had to be done. But, reasonable thought didn't penetrate this afternoon.

"They took it because I ruined everything!" Mary burst jiltedly, no longer caring how off-the-rails she sounded. "The baby wouldn't have died if I had been paying any attention at all…"

"Mary," Marshall exhaled sympathetically; sounding so disheartened she wanted to allow that flood of tears to escape. "I thought we were past this…

Funny, the way he said 'we.'

"The miscarriage was out of your control, and I'm sure that is what bothers you most. Relinquishing control is hard for you."

He was trying to make her sound more level-headed than she was; to not talk about her like she wanted to run everybody's life, but Mary saw right through him. Her hands began to shake and she couldn't hold the phone steady. The trembling became evident in her voice as well.

"I…I…I have to go…" she muttered, not finding it in her to refute what he was saying. "I…I have to go; I have things to do…"

Lies. She had nothing to do.

"Why don't I come see you tonight?" Marshall offered kindly, leaving the discussion where it was. "I can bring you dinner. We can talk."

"Not about this," Mary grumbled.

He almost laughed, "No, not about this," he promised. "About anything. Is it a date?"

Mary drew in her breath at him labeling it as such. She wanted to make a smart remark about what Abigail would think if she'd heard him, but decided against it. Pulling herself together, she shut her eyes and nodded; committing to herself before him.

"Sure, I guess," she agreed quietly. "Talk to you later."

Satisfied, he accepted, "Bye."

No sooner had Mary hung up, anxious to be rid of him, that she heard the knock on her front door. She was almost startled out of her seat at the sound, and felt grateful that there was no one there to watch her be such a scaredy cat. If she leaned to the right just enough, she could make out a figure swimming behind the frosted glass.

No guesses were required. The slight profile; the dark curls; the peeping-Tom quality of her nose practically pressed against the glass. It was definitely Jinx.

Mary had mixed feelings about letting her inside. Trying to ward off Marshall had driven her mother's knowledge completely from her mind, and now she hadn't any idea what to expect. Still, there was little to gain from keeping her on the stoop all day. She'd force entry if nobody let her in.

Reluctant to rise, Mary stood only halfway so Jinx could see her from across the room, and beckoned with a wave of her hand. She used the minute she had to spare to wipe her Blackberry hurriedly on her shirt, not wanting the brunette to detect the tear tracks.

"Hi honey."

The door closed with a snap and, to Mary's surprise, her mother locked it. Who she might be trying to keep out, the daughter had no clue. Only Brandi was unaware of the circumstances these days, so she supposed that could be it. She hadn't even thought about confiding in her sister.

"Hi…" Mary eventually mumbled, averting her eyes back to the newspaper but not taking in a word.

Nonetheless, she kept her vision fixed on the tiny letters, almost unblinkingly so that tears were likely to come to her eyes from pure strain. She was aware of her mother venturing over and taking a seat at the extra barstool across from her.

For a moment, nothing happened. Jinx twiddled her thumbs absentmindedly while Mary shuffled her newspaper rather unnecessarily to appear more interested. There was no reason for her to speak. She had nothing to say. She'd speak when she did have something to say.

But after a few minutes, Jinx obviously couldn't help herself. Very nearly repeating her greeting, she leaned with her elbows on the island, speaking in a voice of decided goodwill.

"Honey…"

Mary was awfully familiar with that sugary, syrupy tone, often used to prompt her to spill her guts. She flicked her eyes upward, hoping feverishly they were not bloodshot.

"What?"

It appeared Jinx wasn't entirely sure 'what.' She shrugged and cast her gaze skyward, as though imploring the heavens to give her some guidance. Mary had to admit she was rather new at this as well. Dropping her stand-offish persona, she folded the paper and tried not to appear overly inviting.

"Look, I didn't ask Marshall to tell you so you could come over here and baby me," she wanted to make that clear up front, because any sort of leeway would have Jinx mauling her with hugs and kisses. "I just didn't know how to tell you myself. I thought you'd be upset with me."

Jinx frowned, "Why on earth would I be upset with you, sweetheart? You didn't do anything wrong. It was just an accident."

This was the first time Mary had heard it described as such. 'Accident' was an interesting term to use. It reminded Mary of car crashes or breaking dishes. Reserved for situations where one was being foolhardy and careless.

Yes. It fit exactly.

"Well, I didn't tell you I was pregnant," Mary stood up; taking the plate of crackers she'd been snacking on to the sink. "I figured that would piss you off."

Even with her back turned, she could glean the sincerity of Jinx's reassurance.

"Maybe if you'd avoided me all nine months," she even tried to joke a little, having to raise her voice over the running water. "But fourteen weeks is early, Mary. I promise I'm not mad."

Promises-promises, Mary couldn't help thinking snidely. Her world seemed to be full of all sorts of promises; all broken within the blink of an eye. Jinx's empathy was nice on some level, but irksome on another. Feigning understanding didn't mean she _really_ understood.

Mary flicked the water off, leaving her plate dripping in the sink, and took her time drying her hands on a dishtowel before she answered.

Even then, she had nothing worthwhile to offer, "Well, good. I guess."

There was something about her mother's green eyes that made Mary feel like she knew something her daughter didn't. Although Marshall hadn't clarified the 'box-the-baby-up' question when Mary had asked if he'd informed Jinx, she somehow didn't think that was it. Still, he had likely said _something_ that was causing Jinx to be so uninhibited about broaching the subject of the miscarriage.

"Don't you want to talk about it?" she posed tentatively, Mary leaning her back against the cabinets and casting the towel aside. "I'm happy to listen."

Mary only shrugged, crossing her arms over her middle. She suddenly wondered if Jinx could spot the difference in her stature now that she knew the truth.

"How about if I talk?" the older switched gears when Mary gave no verbal response. "I just want to make sure I know what happened, Mary."

"I miscarried, that's what happened," she interrupted sharply. "What more do you need to know?" but it was said with a softer tone. "If you want details, then fine. Talk."

She wanted to add, 'I have nothing to hide' but she didn't, because it was blatantly untrue. It was just best that she got Jinx off her back sooner rather than later, but she didn't move any closer to her.

"This happened Thursday?" Jinx wasted no time, but definitely altered her articulations to sound cautionary.

Mary nodded, retrieving the wet towel and twisting it in her fingers.

"So…when I saw you on Thursday night…?"

"I wasn't sick," Mary cut in. "You cracked the code," she added a bitter laugh that Jinx didn't seem to find amusing.

"Darling, Marshall explained the basics," she diverted, calmer still. "I just wanted to see if you need anything. He didn't say whether you lost the baby before you got to the hospital or not…"

"No…" Mary shook her head, suddenly gleaning a little better Jinx's reasoning for the interrogation. She was worried she was still in pain or not feeling well. "He was…" she cleared her throat rather randomly. "He was already gone when I got there, but they had to handle the rest."

Her mother made no comment on the fact that Mary had assigned the baby a sex, accurate or not. Despite trying to skate over the events of that day, she sort of enjoyed Jinx's form of questioning. It made the situation seem neutral and non-threatening, which was how Mary had been working to view it since it had occurred. Unfortunately, she was having a hard time leaving emotion out of it.

It was this thought that made her meander back to the island and regain her seat, still clenching the towel in her fingers, which were becoming white. Jinx leaned her chin in her hand, her pale skin milky and fair; almost like porcelain. Beautiful.

Would he have looked like his grandmother? It was possible. Mark had dark hair and so did Jinx. He might've had a light complexion and curly brunette locks; maybe even freckles. She'd never know, but something in her didn't think so. Maybe she was being self-centered, but she saw a blonde little boy; towheaded and bright-blue-eyed.

James had-had blue eyes.

It was a moment before Mary realized Jinx was speaking again.

"So, you had a D and C?" she asked in reply to her brief story.

Mary nodded again, knowing her contemplation of some imagined son would make her weep if she opened her mouth again. She tried to convince Jinx she was meeting her eyes by casting them on a far space of tabletop near her chest.

"It didn't take that long," she eventually offered, relaxed as possible. "Twenty minutes or something."

Jinx obviously didn't see the need to downplay it, "I'm very sorry you had to go through that, sweetheart. Marshall was there, at least."

Another nod, but her stomach squirmed at the thought of that procedure again. It made her so uncomfortable, and she'd given Jinx enough freedom. She was done.

"I don't want to talk about it anymore, mom…" she attempted to sound stable; not irate.

Well, she certainly didn't sound mad. She sounded pathetically, dejectedly miserable. Even Jinx would be able to see through her.

"Okay?"

Mary finally looked at her for real, matching green eyes to green eyes. She saw a warmth in them; that same protective glance she had garnered when she'd been faking illness two nights prior. Mary didn't have it. She didn't own that ability to make one feel secure and sheltered beyond the call of duty as her job requested. It was all for show and hardly authentic in her personal life.

"Sure…"

Jinx tried to smile, and she patted Mary's hand in recognition.

"But, if there's anything I can get you, you let me know."

But, Mary only shook her head and averted her eyes for what felt like the millionth time. What could Jinx possibly get her that would fill the void that was rapidly becoming emptier and emptier? For the first time in their lives, Jinx held a higher ability that Mary never would.

The ability to mother.

XXX

**A/N: Looking for something original to say, but I don't have anything! Just a big thank-you for all your support!**


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: A million thanks for the reviews!**

XXX

Mary had thought her mother might leave once she declared their conversation closed. That was certainly her intention, anyway. But Jinx hung around – she was very skilled at it, after all – making mindless small talk that Mary was forced to endure. Fortunately, however, she saw opportunity in the old guest room, which her daughter now classified as a 'junk room.' A lot of the junk wasn't hers, and Jinx seemed to notice this at once. She decided to help clean it out, which actually pleased Mary because it gave her something constructive to do. She and her shorter, far more chipper mother could talk about all the crap she had stashed away instead of the ill-fated bout of bad luck she found herself in these days.

They broke for dinner a little after six, and that was when Brandi showed up. She didn't bother knocking and just waltzed right in, nearly scaring Mary out of her wits when she started speaking loudly to the room at large. The older sister had-had her head in the fridge and hadn't heard the door.

"Hello-hello!" she bellowed theatrically.

Mary almost skidded on the linoleum before managing to straighten up and shut the fridge. She glimpsed a look of surprise on Jinx's face too, where she was slicing a tomato at the island.

"Brandi, honey…" she threw a furtive glance at Mary that the elder wished she hadn't. "I didn't know you were dropping by."

"_That_ was the point!" Brandi declared, flinging her purse onto the couch with unmistakable lightheartedness; not a care in the world.

She reminded Mary of a cartoon. She was such a glaring, ridiculous contrast to the drab world in which she currently lived. It was as though she'd stepped into the wrong movie.

"The point was to stop by unannounced?" Jinx clarified, being careful not to cut her fingers, voice politely bemused.

Brandi pointed a direct finger at Mary across the room, who was just standing there, hands growing cold from the leftover chicken she'd pulled out of the fridge.

"_There_ you are!" she stated once more with emphasis. "No more hiding from me, missy!"

Mary knew she looked blank and unfocused at this announcement, but that was how she felt. She'd managed to convince herself Brandi didn't need to know all the details of her short-lived pregnancy, but with Jinx in the loop she didn't see how that was going to be possible. Her mother wasn't the best at keeping secrets, especially when she and her younger daughter got to acting like gossipy schoolgirls.

Fortuitously, at least at the onset, Jinx tried to come to the rescue, "Why would you think Mary was hiding from you? Silly," only marginally believable disbelief was etched in her tone.

"Oh mom, come _on_…" Brandi sighed dramatically, flopping down at one of the free barstools. "You were saying just the other day that if she didn't fess up soon, you were going to barge over here and—."

"I did not say barge," Jinx corrected in a matronly way, pointing a finger of her own. "I said I was concerned, that's all. But-but-but…everything's fine…" she threw Mary a nervous smile over her shoulder. "See, everything's fine," she gestured at her taller child, still rooted to the spot. "Isn't everything fine, Mary?"

Mary wondered vaguely how many times her mother could've used the word 'fine' in one breath. But in some ways, she had to admire how hard she was trying not to divulge anything to Brandi, at least not yet. It was thoughtful in a way that Mary didn't think Jinx typically possessed.

"Yeah, fine…" she finally responded dully.

Somehow, she didn't think this would satisfy Brandi.

"I never thought she _wasn't_ fine," she exhaled with a roll of her eyes while Mary abandoned her chicken to the sink and ventured cautiously over to the gathering place at the island. "I thought she was keeping _secrets_ from me; a person can only be 'busy' for so long…"

"You'd be surprised," Mary muttered, but Brandi didn't seem to have heard.

"But, since you're obviously not sick anymore…"

"She _was_ sick," Jinx chimed in somewhat helpfully. "I was here…"

"Spill your guts!" Brandi all but shrieked, clasping her hands in obvious delight, her blue eyes shining with anticipation. "Peter told me he saw you at the café!"

Mary had forgotten that until just now.

"He said you acted _very_ squiggly about Mark…"

Mary was about to say that squiggly was not a verb, but she was too overwhelmed by the sudden mention of her ex-husband – the father of the baby. She put out a hand to steady herself on the island, and Jinx's ears clearly perked up at this as well. She cast the tomato aside with her knife and cleared her throat loudly to shut Brandi up.

"Sweetheart, would you please calm down?" she requested kindly, batting her eyelashes in an attempt to sway her daughter. "You cannot come in here and bombard Mary like this; she hasn't even had a chance to say hello."

Mary had little plan to give any sort of greeting to her nosy sister, but was appreciative of Jinx standing up for her. She was also more than a little irritated at both of them talking about her like she wasn't even there, but was willing to forgive her mother for trying so hard to put an end to it. Brandi was another story, and ruining her chances of learning the truth with every juvenile word that spewed out her mouth.

As it was, she put on a face of mock pout, but held up her hands in momentary defeat.

"All right, all right…" she was still grinning deviously, but at least she listened. "I'll back off," her smirk altered to something a little more natural and she lost her exuberant persona. "Sorry, Mare."

Mary just shook her head and stayed on the side of the island where Jinx was, feeling safe there.

"Forget it, Squish," she allowed the apology rather magnanimously. "I know it's been awhile. How have you been?"

Better to put the focus on the more pleasant of the two if she wanted to avoid awkward questions.

"Whatever…" she wagged an impatient hand. "Peter's getting all hot and bothered because I'm still not wearing my engagement ring at work," she gave a coarse, throaty laugh. "But, if he wants me to keep selling cars then he should be glad I leave it off."

"Really, dear…" Jinx plainly disapproved while Brandi examined her chipped nail polish. "If Peter wants you to wear it, you should wear it. An engagement ring is special – sacred. Lord knows your father never got me one."

Ugh. Bad subject, Mary couldn't help thinking, but she should've known James wasn't going to be the focus – at least not for long.

"You are not seriously comparing dad to an honest and upstanding man like Peter," Brandi scoffed.

"He is an alcoholic, Squish," Mary couldn't resist pointing out. "It's not like he doesn't have flaws."

"Of course, because you always notice the flaws first," Brandi accused, but without spite and mere superiority. "How could I have forgotten?"

Mary was used to their sisterly banter, and it wasn't the words that irked her. It was Brandi's high-spirited demeanor that had only slightly died down. Here she was, having found the ideal job, a loving man, and planning an impending wedding. Her life was as perfect as it had ever been by a long shot.

And then there was Mary. Thanks to last Thursday, she was in the same spot she'd been in for the last ten years. In an attempt to build herself up, she reflected that if Brandi was moving on swiftly, she might learn to grow up and leave the Mark situation alone.

"What have you guys been doing?" Brandi posed, glancing over her shoulder while Mary thought about all this. She spotted the several trash bags they'd filled in the living room, "You don't have a landfill out back do you Mare?"

Jinx was the one who responded to this poor joke, "No. We're cleaning out the second bedroom," she informed her. "In fact, there is a lot of garbage in there you could stand to take back to Peter's place."

"If it was _garbage_ you'd throw it away," Brandi claimed. "Besides, I can't have left that much stuff. I haven't lived here for like, three years."

"Try a year," Mary interrupted, chewing one of the raw tomato slices that were supposed to have gone with their chicken sandwiches. "Not even. You moved out last August. It's only June."

It felt good to be right about something; to try and overpower her sister. With a mental nudge, she was reminded of Marshall's allegation that she had trouble losing control. She tried her best to forget about it.

"Who cares when it was?" Brandi chose not to acknowledge her mistake. "How much is there?" she asked Jinx.

"A couple boxes full," their mother replied. "Some clothes and DVDs. Why don't you come back with me and see what's yours?" she indicated the room down the hall.

Mary smelled a trap. She felt like a dog scenting out a wild beast. She knew exactly what Jinx was doing. She was going to get rid of Brandi and then appeal to Mary for consent to let the cat out of the bag. She didn't know if she could handle it. She had tried to prepare herself for Jinx's reaction, but Brandi's was a whole other planet all together.

Before she could open her mouth to stop any of this, however, Brandi had already agreed and was sliding off the stool.

"Sure, I guess…" she approved. "Am I invited for dinner too?" that mischievous grin was back.

Jinx didn't give her a vocal temptation and neither did Mary, trying to brush past it as quickly as possible.

"Go on, honey…" she motioned toward the door once again. "Let me rinse off this knife and I'll be there."

Brandi didn't leave before sparing them both with a wily raise of her eyebrows, but then she skipped onward, snatching her cell phone out of her purse as she went. She was undoubtedly going to amuse herself with apps and Facebook until Jinx returned to sort through boxes.

But, the minute she was gone, Mary launched in at once; determined to get her piece in this time.

"Mom, what are you doing?" she hissed, but she didn't sound menacing; she sounded harried. "You're not thinking of…"

"Mary sweetheart; she's obviously not going to leave you alone," she rationalized, leaning in close in case Brandi came back so they were nose-to-nose. "I don't know why she cares so much about this Mark thing…"

"She thinks she set us up…" Mary murmured, tight-lipped and chest heaving, but Jinx barreled onward.

"But, I don't want you stressing about this anymore," she continued as though there had been no interruption. "She needs to cease and desist here, and the truth is the only way to get her to do it."

Mary was briefly thrown by the idea of her mother using an adult phrase such as 'cease and desist' but pushed it under the rug quite quickly. Resigned, she knew Jinx was right. Brandi was relentless and hungry for romance; had been ever since she'd fallen into her cloud of wedding fog. Despite Mary's reluctance for springing something so mature on her, she knew she could be merciful when she wanted.

Marshall would be proud she was tolerating more support.

Sighing and blowing her bangs out of her eyes, she nodded.

"Fine," she whispered, wishing she had more say in this. "Just…not the details…" she did her best to bequeath her own stipulations. "Not the nitty gritty or anything."

Jinx nodded as well, "Of course," she squeezed Mary's upper arm, casting her knife into the sink; unwashed. "You finish up dinner. We'll be out soon."

"Yeah," was all she could think of to finish.

Mary watched Jinx's retreating back before attempting to busy herself with the container of chicken, cutting up chunks small enough to go between two slices of bread. It was tedious work, and she was surprised she didn't manage to lop off a finger with how inattentive she was.

She couldn't begin to imagine how Jinx was going to bring up this scenario with her sister, but that was her problem. She was lucky, really, that so many people were offering to do this job for her. Although she wished she had a little more time to prep herself for dropping the bomb on Brandi, it probably was better to get it out of the way now.

And it didn't take long. To Mary's shock, she heard the voices in the room beyond escalate not ten minutes since Jinx had disappeared. At first, she was bewildered, wondering why either of them would be talking so noisily. She paused, ears heightened, and then she caught the words.

"What?! You're not serious!"

Jesus, Brandi was such a drama queen Mary thought with a roll of her eyes.

"She wouldn't! She better not have…!"

Before Mary could process why in the world Brandi sounded so upset, there was the bang of a door being wrenched open and the sound of angry, thudding footsteps. Mary was so startled she did slice her index finger and the knife fell, with a clatter, into the sink below.

"Damn it…"

Cursing, she groped for a paper towel while blood seeped onto her skin, but this definitely became the least of her worries.

"Brandi! Brandi!"

Jinx sounded despairing and desperate, and Mary whirled around, clutching the cloth to her finger, and was met with a gaze of blazing fury from her younger sister. What was going on? Why did she look like that? She didn't have anything to be mad about, surely.

Evidently, she did.

"How _could_ you?!"

Mary really didn't understand, but knew she would have to hurry or Brandi would grow even more displeased and possibly tearful. She knew she was still sporting that vacant stare, which probably didn't help matters.

"What?" she breathed, wrinkling her eyebrows. "What do you mean…?"

Brandi drew breath to go on, but Jinx skittered into the room and grabbed her arm before she could speak. Mary could hear her whispering urgently, practically beseeching her in order to talk her down.

"Stop it!" the younger twisted her elbow free and continued. "How could you get pregnant with Mark's baby and not even tell me?!"

Mary gaped soundlessly like a hooked fish for a mere moment, trying to wrap her head around the absurdity of this statement. How could it have been that she had expected wrath from Jinx, but not Brandi? Brandi had always been kindhearted and optimistic, while Jinx had certainly taken her turn at being self-centered and over-the-top. This petulant little girl she was dealing with didn't seem like Brandi at all, despite her frequent immaturity.

"I…I'm not…" she clenched the paper towel still tighter around her knuckle. "I'm _not_ pregnant with Mark's baby."

She cast an anguished look at Jinx, wondering if she'd gotten this far into the story, and tried fervently to bury the kind of pain it evoked to say such a thing out loud. Leave it to Brandi to make her.

"But you _were_!" Brandi accused huffily. "And you went and lost it before you even told me _or_ Mark!"

Deep down, Mary doubted her sister meant the second phrase the way it sounded, but it still stung, and those feelings of blame came rushing back in a fleet. Jinx was obviously disgruntled by it as well and hurried to head things off another time.

"Brandi, stop it…" she turned on the sternest voice she had and dug her nails into her daughter's arm again. "Think how insensitive you're being; think what Mary's had to go through…"

"How insensitive _I'm_ being?" she snapped hysterically. "What about her! Mark is my friend and it turns out I've been lying to him…!"

Mary was growing more and more agitated by the second; she could feel the flush rising in her cheeks.

"Did you ever stop to think that maybe it wasn't any of your business?" she interjected loudly, feeling some of her old confidence spring to the surface. "If you'd keep your big nose out of my private life you wouldn't have to worry about whatever the hell you're telling Mark."

Brandi was clearly glad for the opportunity to start shouting some more; she broke free of their mother again and stalked further into the kitchen so that she and Mary were about two feet from one another. Jinx stood helplessly in the background, torn between fighting the battle and letting them duke it out.

"He's going to hate me now!" Brandi whined, sounding six years old with her plea. "He's going to think I kept this from him!"

"Who the hell cares?!" Mary spat, completely overwhelmed by the idea that Brandi thought this had anything to do with her; that she could make it so ludicrously personal. "He's my ex, not yours!"

"I'm supposed to be your _sister_!" Brandi moaned. "I tell you _everything_…"

"You do not," Mary bit haughtily. "I don't remember you telling me you had a suitcase full of meth in my guest room. You didn't happen to find any of that back there did you?" she waved a sarcastic hand. "Because that's some trash that could use some taking out."

"You spoiled everything!" the shorter of the two declared, choosing not to comment on Mary's jab. "Peter wanted to hire Mark to work at the dealership and now he's never going-!"

"Yeah, about that!" Mary cut her off, ire igniting more fiercely the longer she spoke, green eyes flashing in their disturbance. "You might've asked _me_ about bringing Mark back to town before you went and told a bunch of fairytales to Peter – he thought Mark and I were on some kind of fast-track to getting married!"

This was a slight exaggeration, but Mary didn't care; Brandi was embellishing enough for the both of them.

"If you would just give Mark a chance instead of always pushing him away…!"

"We are not a couple, Squish!" she hollered so loudly her throat burned. "Jesus Christ; this isn't high school! Grow up!"

"Maybe _I'll_ grow up when you do…" Brandi sneered spitefully.

Mary let out her best scoff, "Yeah, and what's that supposed to mean?"

"Well, I'd actually be mature enough to _want_ a baby instead of not even giving a damn whether it…"

"BRANDI!"

Jinx screamed and Mary lunged and flung out her good hand to smack Brandi in the chest before she could finish, so filled with rage and misery that she couldn't hold it in. She'd known where that sentence was going and wanted to strangle her sister for not even pretending to understand. The smaller of the two staggered and Mary almost hit her again but wised up, because Jinx was scurrying between them, obviously distraught this had gone so terribly.

"Girls, please don't!" she groaned, almost in tears herself, stationed in the middle like some barrier.

Brandi was rubbing her ribcage where Mary had smacked her, looking wounded but grimly satisfied. Mary knew she hadn't really hurt her, but was glad she had shut her up for now. Breathing hard, Jinx turned to her younger daughter – what Mary often considered the favored daughter – and actually tried to distinguish right from wrong.

"Brandi, what is the matter with you?" she begged for it to be made known. "How can you sit here with so little sympathy for your sister? She'd been through an ordeal, honey…"

Mary was mildly annoyed her mother made her sound so weak, but didn't have much time to dwell on it.

"If she's not going to treat Mark like he's a human being than she doesn't deserve to have his baby."

"Brandi, that's enough…"

"Get the hell out!" Mary bellowed over Jinx's supposed strictness. "Get out! Go home to your _fiancée_ and write up little love notes and dot your I's with hearts!"

She fully expected another rant to come her way, but Brandi did as she was told for once and flounced away, collecting her purse from the counter. She stomped through the living room and out the front door before Mary could blink, leaving her alone with her mother.

The tension she left in her wake was palpable. Mary could all-but feel it swirling, heavy and thick in the air like some giant storm cloud. She didn't realize she had shed tears until her heart rate began to slow down, feeling the all-too-recognizable dampness on her rosy cheeks. She made the mistake of trying to wipe them away with her left hand; an awkward action that brought it to Jinx's attention.

"Sweetheart, I am so sorry…" she revealed without preamble. "I have no idea what has gotten into her; I'm sorry…"

She tried to lay a hand on Mary's shoulder, but Mary jerked out of reach.

"Something else must be going on with her for her to be this hung up on Peter and Mark…"

Mary did not want to hear excuses made for her babyish sister and cut to the chase.

"I want you to leave."

She couldn't take this anymore. She was hunched with her arms over her stomach, trying desperately to keep from sobbing in front of Jinx, and she knew if she continued to talk it would only bring on the inevitable. The request was made very softly; more than a request, but less than a demand.

"Angel, I promise I will speak to her; she cannot get away with treating you like that…"

Softer still, "Mom, please go."

Mary sniffled and averted her eyes to the cut on her finger, now squeezed underneath her elbow on the opposite arm. Blood had seeped through the towel, but the abrasion wasn't deep. If she focused hard enough on that, she wouldn't have to focus on the nightmare at hand.

"Thank-you for helping me with the room. I want to be by myself now."

She sounded robotic; like some kind of a recording, but she was trying not to give in to either anger or sorrow. Fortunately, the humane nature of her prayer finally caused Jinx to tune in and do what Mary believed was in her best interests.

"Okay…" she whispered somewhat frightfully. "If that's what you'd like."

"Yes," Mary nodded tightly.

Jinx nodded as well, "All right then…"

It was clear she disagreed with Mary being alone after such a blow-up, but she knew her daughter had been far more open-minded of help today than usual, and that she had likely run her limit. Without another word, she went and retrieved her own purse from the couch. Mary watched her struggle with whether or not she should offer to take the trash bags to the curb, or suggest she at least finish up the sandwiches. Ultimately, she buttoned up and finally bid her a disinclined farewell.

"You have a nice night, honey…"

Doubtful.

"Maybe I'll talk to you tomorrow."

Mary didn't commit and kept it simple, "Goodbye."

And before Mary could rethink her quick decision, her mother had gone. She turned and found herself facing an empty kitchen; pieces of tomato growing soggy on the cutting board; chicken becoming dry and less appealing with each second that elapsed.

With trepidation and tears in full flow, thinking horrifically of the fact that her sister believed her so selfish and so heartless, she went back to the sink to rinse out her cut.

It was only then, while the light of the setting sun illuminated the beads of dew on her skin, that she remembered Marshall was supposed to bring her dinner.

XXX

**A/N: I have written Brandi pretty much the same in all of my stories; naive and innocent, but sweet and well-meaning. I figured it was time to switch things up a little bit, because she's certainly had her less-than-shining moments on the show. I just hope I didn't take her too far. They've had Mary cross the line a lot on the show, so I had Brandi do the same. Even though I still like her – it was time to shake her up! ;)**


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: I will say it again and again. Thank-you very much for your ongoing readings and reviews. I am not exaggerating when I say you all are far and away some of my biggest supporters in life. I've never really had a 'Marshall' with which to spend my time, and he or someone like him is definitely what I need. You all do a great job with cheering me on though, and I sure appreciate it.**

XXX

"Why?"

"I don't know, Mare. I wish I did."

"Why would she do that? She acts like I don't have any feelings at all…"

"But, we both know that you do."

"Just…why?"

This had been the million dollar question for the last hour. Mary sat in her stool at the island, chin resting in both of her palms. Marshall had taken it upon himself to rub her shoulders; massaging her knotted muscles; more tightened with the pressure Brandi had inflicted on her.

With each stroke, she was alerted to the fact that she ordinarily never would've let such an affectionate gesture be donated to her. But, it was the only thing keeping her sane; Marshall's rhythmic movements were soothing and kept her mind clear. And so, she didn't object and he didn't stop.

"You need to relax…" he said without answering her fifteenth 'why' of the evening. "I can feel the stress in your bones; you're going to make yourself sick."

"Well, according to my sister; that's what I already am," Mary bemoaned in a dejected voice.

Marshall paused, thumbs on her shoulder blades. Her temper had evaporated almost instantly when he'd walked through the door, giving way for the tears with which Mary had become so accustomed. One little 'What's wrong?' was enough to break her, and she was pouring out her woes without a second thought. Even now, she wasn't sure she was entirely through with the weeping.

"I really thought she'd understand…" she whispered, Marshall still lost in thought. "Instead I discovered she thinks I'm this cold, callous bitch who'd rather lose a baby than raise one…"

"Mary, that was mean," Marshall interrupted before she could go any further, resuming his massage from behind her. "Whatever made her say it, we don't know. But, it was very unfeeling of her to accuse you of something like that."

Mary gulped, glad he was on her side, but the tantalizing pads of his fingers only urged her forward.

"What if she's right?"

She was afraid to bring that question into play, but she was going to have to at some point. It was what had been lurking in the rear of her mind since Brandi had departed, taking her bad attitude with her. Although most might be too tactful to say it, it didn't mean it wasn't true.

Marshall removed one of his hands all together and used the remaining one to spin the stool around to face him.

"Listen to me," he insisted firmly. And when he had her eyes, centered on his steely blue ones, he continued, "You _cannot_ think that way. You _have_ to give yourself a little more credit," he seemed almost desperate to make her appreciate this. "Do not let Brandi's unflattering behavior dictate how things really are."

Mary had to hand it to Marshall as she fed him a feeble half-smile on the corners of her mouth. While he was obviously upset that Brandi had caused his partner this much grief, he'd also been very polite about how to approach it. He made his dissatisfaction known without insulting the younger sister, as he'd always got along with her very well.

"Marshall, _I_ don't even know how things really are," Mary was forced to admit, lamenting the absence of his hands, but glad she could look into his face. "Why do I feel so lousy about this whole thing?"

Marshall shook his head, "It's a lousy state of affairs, partner," he admitted dully. "Even without Brandi's reaction."

"I just hate feeling this mixed up about everything…" she ran her hands up and down her jeans in her anxiety. "I wish I weren't so damn confused."

She rubbed her eyes with her fingers, where they burned behind her nails; they were worn out from three straight days of tears – heavy or otherwise; her retinas weren't used to that much moisture. Pressing her palms in and seeing gold stars pop through the blackness; she tried to gather some precision.

"Mary…" Marshall intoned in the darkness. "I know you said you didn't want to talk about this, but now that we're in this deep…"

She forced herself to look at him, vision bleary and blurred from where he now leaned against the counter.

"While it is perfectly natural to be insulted by what Brandi said to you, I cannot help feeling that you found it so hurtful because…"

"Because why?" Mary interrupted speedily, trying to scare him, but he didn't back down.

"Well, because _you_ think you _do_ deserve a baby. Or, at least you _want_ one, and she made it sound like that wasn't plausible."

Mary wanted to ratchet her anger again, but found that she couldn't. She was too drained and he was being too kind. She would just have to deal with him, but she wasn't about to agree.

"You are a trip," the woman said, but without any of her usual malevolence and a mere glimmer of sarcasm. Pitching her elbows onto her knees, she gazed up at Marshall like a hunchback, "I don't know what world you're living in where you think I am capable of being a mother."

Instead of feeling sorry for her, Marshall pulled out all the stops. Crossing his ankles where he stood, he suddenly began a run-down of qualities Mary hadn't any inkling that he believed she held.

"You're intelligent. You're loyal. You have a sense of humor – albeit it a rather acidic one," he might as well have started ticking them off on his fingers. "You don't know the meaning of the word 'quit.'"

"Marshall…" Mary sighed and rubbed her temples, catching the index finger she had sliced and wincing when the cut brushed the flesh. "Even if all that's true, and way to kiss up, by the by…"

"They are facts; it is not sucking up," he argued, but Mary chose to ignore him.

"I'm not…"

She danced around the correct terminology for a moment, still trying to ease the throbbing that had begun in her head.

"I'm not…" repeating it seemed to help get the rest of the flow in motion. "I'm not _nice_ enough to be a mother. I didn't want it enough."

Marshall eyed her quizzically, drumming his fingers on the leg of his jeans. It was clear he was thinking hard – about her statement, yes, but about Brandi as well. He knew the Mary of old wouldn't have taken her sister's words to heart, and even if she had she wouldn't have cried about it. It was very telling – but also a little unsettling – to see her feelings so shaken. She was the toughest broad he knew, and admitting she felt this insecure was new ground for both of them.

"Mary, lesser people than you have been blindsided by pregnancy and managed to embrace it," he figured after her confession.

"But, I never got that far," she murmured before he could pick up the thread.

"Maybe not," Marshall rebutted. "But, that doesn't mean you wouldn't have. It doesn't mean this isn't a possibility someone down the line. Do you want to have kids?"

It was very like Marshall to finally ask outright, to dispense with beating around the bush and get down to the basics. The problem was, Mary didn't have an answer – not an answer she could share with him anyway. To admit that she had already begun fantasizing about motherhood was insane. She was having enough trouble just coping with everything she'd been forced to give up; her one chance at nurturing her own flesh and blood.

Marshall's eyes were almost grey in their twinkling blueness; much like the sky had been after the rain shower. Small snippets of cobalt sneaking through the mass of murky clouds. Mary knew she had been the one to cause those murky clouds in Marshall's orbs.

"My biological clock is pretty much done ticking," she responded evasively, standing up and taking a bite of the monster burrito Marshall had brought her for dinner. "I'll be forty next year. That ship has sailed."

"Don't assume there's a time limit…" he pushed anxiously, obviously so keen to have her commit to this idea that he stood up a little straighter. "You could have another chance if that's what you want…"

"I _had_ my chance!" Mary burst, going from zero to one hundred in about two seconds. She smacked the burrito back on her plate and faced him dead-on, willing him not to make her talk when it came to this. "I had my chance and I _blew_ it, and according to Brandi that's exactly what my comeuppance should be for acting like such a tyrant!"

She wasn't really mad at Marshall; she was frustrated beyond her own frame of reference and tears began to stream from her eyes at the event of having to discuss it. She wasn't even embarrassed anymore; Marshall had seen it all.

"I have no business being a mother, okay?" why she tacked on the question she'd never know, but it was muddled beneath her cascade. "None! Those parents that can keep their babies alive; those are the ones who are mothers!"

Marshall, though not angry, was able to match her pound-for-pound for volume, "This _wasn't_ your fault!" he insisted, and to Mary's alarm, he grabbed both her arms, stopping her in her tracks and forcing her to face him. "You didn't do anything! It was a mistake!"

When he saw that she wasn't going to fight him, that she was too consumed in her own grief, he transferred his fingers to her cheeks, where the tears ran in rivulets through his knuckles. Mary squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block it out, trying to think; trying to wrap her head around what the hell it was she wanted.

"I'll tell you that as many times as you need to hear it…" he hissed urgently through the shadows. "Do not listen to Brandi; she doesn't know what she's talking about."

Mary wanted to thank him for finally being so 'regular Joe' about her sister's asinine comments, but found that her brain was elsewhere. It had triggered, as though on a delay, at the word 'mistake.'

"Jinx said it was an accident…"

But, her speech was so unintelligible that he didn't hear.

"What?" more supple and gentle.

Very deliberately, Mary made to move her lips again, opening her lids slowly with each passing letter.

"Jinx called it an accident," she dictated as smoothly as she could, Marshall's face looming before her own; almost bizarrely pleased by her continued scenes of emotion. "I know she didn't mean it the way it came out, but…"

Mary had to pause to regain her breath, and she gingerly removed Marshall's hands from her cheeks, feeling them slide on the slickness of the slopes. She mopped at her eyes while his fingers came to rest on her shoulders.

"It just made it sound like…"

"Like a catastrophe," Marshall finished. "As though you were scatterbrained or reckless in some way."

Inside her head, Mary screamed in agreement; she basked in how well he knew her; how he had practically taken the words right out of her mouth. But, she knew she would become more of a mess than usual if she did that, and so kept silent. Marshall seemed to take that as concurrence anyway, and hastened to cover himself.

"Mary, I…" he balked suddenly while she did her best to listen, still somewhat appalled at her recent behaviors. "I'm sorry. I don't know what made me shove you into this all of a sudden…"

"It's okay," she whispered, not wanting him to feel badly, catching sight of her dripping face in the toaster behind him.

"No, it isn't," he shook his head. "I haven't given you enough time to process all this. It's only been a few days. I shouldn't be asking you to make some life decision when you're just trying to sort it all out."

Mary granted him a meager smile, "So then, why do you?" she almost winked to show she was teasing through her heavy eyes.

"I just hate to see you thinking so little of yourself," his answer was prompt. "I know better and so do you. We both know you can do anything you set your mind to. I wish you wouldn't doubt it, but I should do a better job trying to understand why you are."

Mary wanted to take her turn at absolving his guilt, "You've done more than enough good to make up for a lapse in judgment," she informed him. "I swear."

"Well…" Marshall grinned too while she used her sleeve rather unfashionably to dry her eyes. "That's good to hear, I suppose. But, we'll leave my probing queries for another day. I did promise not to hash anything out, after all."

Mary didn't relish that day eventually arriving, but she was grateful she had escaped for the moment. Her mind didn't seem to be able to grope beyond the here and now. She seemed permanently stuck in the present; her future looked bleak, blank, and fraught with problems. As Marshall was all too adept at pointing out, she didn't know where she was going and there was no way to find out.

"These are substantial burritos," he remarked at random, probably to prove to Mary that he wasn't going to stay locked in consequential discussion. Taking a large bite, he examined the contents, "I thought after having Mexican for lunch I wouldn't be in the mood, but these are from that new place by the office."

"They are good…" she agreed, more than happy to pick up the tedious drivel. "We'll have to go back sometime and try their margaritas."

"I've been…" Marshall told her through a mouthful of steak. "Abigail and I stopped in one afternoon for some sampling. They're very tangy."

He didn't quite realize the effect his words had on Mary until she stopped chewing her own dinner and started poking her stray tortilla chips in the cup of salsa. The way she avoided him so quickly definitely piqued his interest. He was about to change tack – get off the subject of his girlfriend – but she was too fast for him.

"Does Abigail know you're here?"

She blinked soulfully up at him; he suddenly seemed much further away now that she had wandered back to the island. It was like he was on the other side of a window, and the sill was stuck when she tried to push it up. She didn't feel quite herself with him when he spoke about Abigail.

Marshall tried not to look too bewildered, "No, but I didn't have a chance to tell her. She's working tonight," he wanted this to sound impassive, but also spoiled it when he soldiered on. "Why?"

Mary shrugged, also working hard to appear unruffled, however miserably she failed.

"I don't know. You and I have been seeing quite a bit of each other lately. That doesn't bother her?"

"Well…" Marshall changed his tone to include the illusion that he thought this question had merit. Arching his back off the counter, he began to pace in the small stretch of floor there was in front of the sink. "While this is the case, it is not as though Abigail doesn't grasp the concept of one's partner being one's friend…"

"Yeah, but what does she think you're doing with me?" Mary interrupted, suddenly mildly amused at how he marched up and down her linoleum; she didn't know what he meant by it.

"Nothing…" he maintained, more casually still. "We're at work most of the day. There is hardly anything extensive to tell."

Mary followed his tracks with her eyes, dinner momentarily forgotten. She didn't think Marshall was lying or even fibbing, but why was he so fidgety all of a sudden? She was the one who was supposed to be uncomfortable about Abigail, not him. But, when she brought herself into the equation, it seemed things were different.

And while she might be fairly certain he wasn't telling tall tales, that didn't stop her from trying to be positive.

"So…" the woman's voice lowered considerably, as though the detective might be standing nearby. "She doesn't know?"

That stopped him dead, Mary was satisfied to find. He halted right where he'd started, and he wore the same look of disbelief he had when his partner had assumed Abigail had been told she was pregnant in the first place. It was a look that liberated Mary; a look that said there was still an unspoken bond between her and Marshall that no person – girlfriend or otherwise – could penetrate. Marshall had belonged to only her for so long. She shuddered to think what would happen to that connection if he and Abigail became more serious.

"No, Mary," he stated seriously in reply to her prying. "She doesn't know."

He didn't even seem sorry about it, which made Mary feel better about apologizing – something that didn't come easy to her.

"Well, if I'm keeping you from her or anything…" she bit off another hunk of her burrito in hopes of letting the rest come out easier. "I'm sorry. I know I've been crazy lately."

Marshall came ever closer, so they were as close as they'd been minutes before when she'd been freaking out for the umpteenth time. But, his long, angular face held as much sympathy as it ever had. Mary didn't understand how he could operate in two separate worlds like he did; one with Abigail and one with her.

He suddenly remembered Jinx's claims that Mary was concerned about sucking up all his free time, and this proved it. Far from wanting to confide that her mother had let that particular cat of the bag, he reverted to reassuring her the best way he knew how.

Giving her upper arm a rough pat, "Crazy is hardly the word I would use," he said kindly, eliciting another coy smile. "I think it's excellent, actually."

"Excellent?" Mary scoffed. "How?"

"Well, maybe 'excellent' isn't quite right either," he admitted. "But, I'm really proud of you for not trying to run from however the miscarriage has made you feel. If you're sad, you're sad, and that's no reason to shy away. It's a very healthy approach to the situation."

He was the only person Mary knew who could legitimately make her believe he thought what he'd just said. Nonetheless, he wasn't entirely right in assuming she wasn't running away; he'd tried to plumb the very issue she wanted avoid – her desire to be a mother.

"Maybe I'd rather act unhealthily then," she declared with a shard of sarcasm.

"We'll let a professional make the call," Marshall rebutted pompously, sounding more like his old self too. "Don't you have a follow-up doctor's appointment on Monday?"

"Yeah…" Mary sighed, tired and grumpy just thinking about it. "Doctor Wolk said Doctor Reese would want to check everything over since the…" she scratched the back of her neck absentmindedly. "Since the operation."

"It'll be no sweat," Marshall assumed, seeing her grow antsy. "Straight in and out; if you'd had an anomaly, you would've known before now."

"I guess," she conceded, but when she brought her nails off her skin to rest at her sides once more, she watched Marshall's brows inch together in concern.

At first, she wasn't sure what had prompted the change in attitude, but then he spoke, "Whoa, hey…"

Mary glanced over her shoulder, still uncertain what he'd seen, "What?"

He took up her hand, and she saw immediately, 'what.' The blood from the incision on her index finger had dried, but it was dark and somewhat impressive looking, though she was still pretty sure she didn't need to be sewn up.

"What happened to your hand?" he asked, giving the cut the once-over.

"Nothing…" she insisted. "I sliced it accidentally when I was dividing up the chicken; I just haven't had a chance to grab a band-aid."

"Mary, its deep…"

"It's not," she tried to pull away.

"You might need stitches; let me see…"

Unfortunately, they both yanked at the same time and Marshall's fingernails snagged her already injured sliver of skin. He tried to draw back, immediately realizing his mistake, but it was too late. He'd torn across the tender flesh and blood spurted forth once more, Mary cursing as she slapped her good hand to the sore spot.

"Ouch!" her socked foot stamped the linoleum and made a thud. "Damn it, Marshall! Jesus!"

Blinking back tears of pure surprise this time, Mary chewed her lower lip hard, shielding the drips and trying not to think about how much it stung.

Marshall was fast, blasting water in the sink where Mary reluctantly joined him.

"Shoot…" perfectly tame. "I'm sorry; I'm really sorry…"

He kept jabbering over the running water, Mary content to just listen and let him do his job. It was somehow consoling to hear him take a slice so seriously.

"I just wasn't thinking…"

He gingerly took Mary's wrist and shifted it under the stream, spraying over the knuckle.

"Is that too hot?"

A shake of her head.

Peering quizzically while the water cleaned, "I think you're right; I think you're safe from stitches, but keep an eye on it…"

A nod.

"If it seeps through overnight you might see somebody," he instructed, sounding scholarly. "But then, you know the drill," Mary had just been about to say as much.

Silence as the water finished its work, and then Marshall flicked it off. Without even asking her if she approved, he whipped a dishtowel off the rack above the window and wrapped it carefully around the wound.

"Does that hurt?"

Mary found it in her to speak, "No."

The pain seemed to have vanished. The pressure Marshall was exerting on her pointer finger far surpassed any discomfort she might still be feeling. She was too busy watching him – cautious, doting; perfectly confident in his movements of how to doctor someone. Part of Mary knew it was his nature as a US Marshal, but she also knew part of it was him. Just him.

"Let me get you a band-aid…" he was saying as Mary nearly blocked him out in favor of the viewing. "Press it tight."

Mary did as he said; hoping fervently that they were both right and the injury wasn't significant. She'd had enough of doctors and hospitals.

He was back in a flash after digging through one of the side drawers, presenting his partner with a variety of band-aids; all shapes and sizes. Mary had suspected he would come armed. It was just the sort of thoughtful thing he'd do.

"Here; I'll wrap you up…"

Mary nodded slowly, "Thanks."

He all-but swaddled her finger, cushioning it inside some sort of bite-sized cast. But, Mary didn't care how foolish she looked or consider how she was going to use said finger with it so bandaged. She was too engrossed by Marshall's dutiful handiwork.

He did it all without thinking; it came so naturally to him; so effortlessly. While Mary certainly took on such a persona when working with witnesses, she had never quite possessed the same traits when it came to family or supposed friends. Marshall was protective; almost paternal.

Like a father.

"There…" he announced through Mary's internal babble. "How does that feel?"

She swallowed past the lump in her throat and shook her head, trying to get some clarity.

"Good. Fine."

Marshall must've noticed the dreamy look of glum on her face, because he scowled.

"I'm sorry, again," he emphasized. "Are you sure it feels okay?"

She tried to smile, but it came off more as a wince.

"Yeah, thank-you," she nodded in an attempt to appear more convincing.

She allowed her eyes to rove upward, to stare unblinkingly into his. She was in awe of how he could be so skilled at so many things; nothing scared him; nothing ruffled him. He was perpetually calm; an everlasting cool head. And he cared.

She finally batted her eyelashes and somehow ended up repeating herself, "Thank-you."

Marshall grinned and decided to prod Mary just a little, thinking he had done his duty and backed off on the more solemn subject matter for the evening.

"You look like you're dwelling," he proposed neutrally, resting a hand on his hip.

Mary attempted, once more, to drag herself back to the present, but it wasn't easy. The trance she'd fallen into watching Marshall was far more pleasant than the here and now.

"I was just thinking…" she whispered, thinking it had been a very strange night indeed with how much back and forth they had engaged in. "It must be nice to know how to take care of someone."

Marshall continued to smile with just a loitering indication in his piercing blue eyes.

"_You_ know how," he uttered definitively. "And one way or another, you are going to prove it."

XXX

**A/N: I certainly have Mary breaking a few bridges, even if she won't admit/commit to wanting to be a mother. We shall see!**


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: I am relieved that so many of you enjoy reading about a sensitive Mary. It is fun to write her that way when I can.**

XXX

_Dawn's pink light was filtering in through the curtains in Mary's bedroom. It gave the space an eerie, mystical quality, but not peculiar or unsettling. It gave the impression that the sun would be out soon, and that morning would bring all things that the sun was – bright, beaming, and full of yellow, golden joy. Something within Mary could hardly wait, and at the same time, she was perfectly content right where she was. The purple haze brought her a sense of tranquility; like she was one of only two people in the entire world, and the sun was raising for them and only them._

_There was something about the curtains that were different though. As Mary sat up in bed, resting her head against the board, she found herself examining them. The ones she remembered were plain white; so ordinary and without personality. She'd had them forever, but now they didn't look quite the same. They seemed to have some sort of embroidered pattern; maybe like flowers or diamonds. She didn't remember changing them. Had someone else done it?_

_A soft coo below reminded her why she was here; awake in the wee hours of the morning. Glancing downward, she returned her attentions to her son, who had decided he was hungry at five thirty in the morning. Although so tired Mary could feel her eyes itching from lack of sleep, she didn't mind Jamie's sudden starving. At six months old, he needed all he could get. He was growing boy, after all._

"_Come on, bud…" she crooned, offering him his bottle. "Time to eat."_

_Jamie whimpered slightly; only having been bottle-fed for about a week now, he'd been having a little trouble adjusting. Mary was patient, however, and kept trying, tempting his beautiful, working lips. He was desperate, willing to latch on if only he could recall this was the way he ate all his meals from now on. He would get there._

"_Chow down…" she joked, shifting him higher into her lap so he could sit up a little more. Being careful to anchor him with her arm, she teased lightly, "You know you want to."_

_Mary was enchanted watching Jamie try to hold his head up; this was a new development as well and it rolled drunkenly on his tiny shoulders like a bowling ball. Still, it didn't make her nervous that he teetered precariously; on the verge of tipping from such a heavy object. She was always cautious to have a waiting hand to catch him if he exerted too much energy._

"_I betchya it's good, Jamie…" Mary taunted. "You've always thought so before."_

_Tentatively, he made another attempt to suck on the bottle; finding it easier now that he wasn't sequestered cradle style. Pursing his lips over the nipple, he used his tongue first before grabbing hold once he got that sweet taste of milk. Mary was wholly satisfied and rubbed his back in approval._

"_That's my boy," she whispered._

_She loved the little slurping noises he made. On any other person – infant or otherwise – it might be obnoxious, but with Jamie it was flawless. It showed her how heartily he enjoyed and relished his meals, just like his mama. She had never been one to hold back when she found something particularly delicious._

"_I told you-you wouldn't want to miss out," she insisted, continuing to rub circles on his spine, basking in the cotton on his blue onesie; the way his cheek brushed the baggy navy shirt she wore as a pajama top these days. "See; it's yummy."_

_Mary's use of a word as cutesy as 'yummy' didn't even phase her; it seemed to fit, somehow. And besides, she had other things on her mind. For five-thirty, the sun seemed to be peeking behind the mountains remarkably fast, but it kept its distance, secluded beneath the peaks until it was ready to show its face. _

_She also heard the sounds of movement beyond her closed bedroom door, and a realization hit her that she shared with her famished son._

"_Daddy will be back soon."_

_An eccentric but nonetheless complacent feeling lingered in the depths of Mary's belly. She felt very certain in the words she had just spoken; she believed in them without a smidgen of doubt. What made them so unconventional was that she was sure 'daddy' was coming, but no clear picture formed in her mind of who that was. It was just daddy. Daddy was coming, and no desire to discover his identity presented itself. Mary was simply serene with the fact that he was on his way._

"_You know how much daddy loves you…" she continued, so convinced she was of the man. "You make him so happy; he turns into a complete doofus." _

_A portion of her mind took pause. Doofus. A funny word; it gave her familiarity and ease._

"_I tell you what, Jamie; I'm embarrassed by him half the time…" she shook her head, watching vast, pale blue eyes stare up into her own. "All those idiotic faces he mugs and that insufferable baby talk," she rolled her eyes, and if possible his gaze turned more interested behind his bottle. "But, we put up with a lot for people we love."_

_Jamie seemed to be hanging onto every word she said; his eyes were like the ocean; beautiful and endless and soul-searching. If there ever were windows to one's inner psyche, he definitely had them. All Mary saw when she looked at him was potential and promise; he was pure beyond any other being she'd met._

"_Daddy might be nuts about you…" she went on, seeing the milk begin to dwindle in the bottom of the bottle. "But, you don't forget you're mama's boy. You're mama's boy…"_

_Mary didn't feel selfish in saying so. She felt protective and more caring; more kindhearted than she'd ever imagined she could be. Jamie, with his pretty eyes and sprouting tufts of blonde hair, had made her a far better person. He took her out of herself and showed her that life was only worth living when you had someone to truly live it with._

"_You all done, bud?" she asked when he started gulping on air. "Let me have it…"_

_Mary slipped the bottle away from his now milk-stained mouth, and was amused to see that his lips were still chewing like he hadn't immediately registered the absence. Keeping him balanced on her knee, she reached to place the container on the bedside table and promptly heard him start coughing._

_It was a hoarse sound; like there was fluid caught in his throat, but was strangely unworried. _

"_Got a hairball, there?" she mused casually. "Come on pal…"_

_Hands free, she pulled him to his feet and patted his back a little more roughly than she'd been doing minutes before, coaxing him to clear his tract. The noise was louder next to her ear, and she could see his cheeks reddening. And yet, oddly, she had enough faith in herself to get him through it, however miserable he might be._

"_Drank too fast, didn't you?" Mary inquired, as if Jamie might answer. "Been there, sir."_

_When he finally quivered away from hacking, the effect seemed to have jarred him into fear. Although no longer coughing, he started to whine, frightened of why he hadn't been able to breathe for sixty seconds. Hearing this, Mary pulled him right into her chest, snuggling his cheek against her floppy shirt._

"_Shh…" she breathed soothingly. "Shh; it's okay…"_

_Jamie burrowed still further, basking in the comfort of his dear, trusted mother. He knew it was safe here, and Mary couldn't have been more elated because of it. He might be unhappy or scared, and she certainly didn't want those things, but she couldn't forget his wholehearted need for her. He couldn't do without her. They had each other and only each other; daddy wiped completely from her mind._

_With one last shudder, he calmed and blinked through the gap in Mary's arms, eyes beamed by the sun streaming through the offbeat curtains._

"_Good boy," Mary told him, straightening the sleeper he wore; which was summery and without long sleeves or bottoms. It made him feel freer and lighter, somehow. "Got it all up," she smacked him one more time on the back, contemplating whether he'd managed to burp amidst all the coughing._

_For a moment, they sat in silence, Mary not feeling the need to jabber incessantly with her sweet son. It was enough to simply 'be' as two people that so easily made one. She reveled in his chubby cheeks; his soft, perfectly bending elbows and knees; ten tiny fingers and ten tiny toes. There wasn't a thing wrong with him and there never would be. He was perfect._

"_What a lovely picture this is…" declared a low voice._

_Mary glanced up at once, and found herself staring at none other than daddy. With an abrupt comprehension, she realized who he was – it was the man from the hospital. He had that same blurred face and long-waisted body. Only this time, Mary wasn't confused about whom he was. She knew him exactly; he was Jamie's daddy. Nothing more, nothing less._

"_Not many people could make me smile before six in the morning," daddy continued, warbling his way over to the bed where Mary and Jamie were sheltered within it. "But you two manage; you do it every time."_

"_You are such a sap," Mary accused shyly, shaking her head as he crawled to the head of the bed next to her. He craned his neck – it was a very long neck – and pressed his lips directly to the top of Jamie's head. "Seriously. Jamie and I are going to be laughing ourselves to pieces about you when he's older and you're still mooning like a schoolgirl."_

"_I wouldn't be so cocky," the man rested his arm – also a rather long arm – around Mary's shoulders, and it felt natural; like they did it every day. "If you think I couldn't hear you through the door, you are sadly mistaken."_

"_Eavesdropper," Mary snorted. "Right, Jamie?" she appealed to the child. "Daddy's an eavesdropper."_

_But Jamie wasn't interested in his mother anymore. He had giggled musically at the sensation of the lips touching his head, and was now gazing adoringly into the face of his father. Jamie must know what he looked like, Mary thought. It was his father after all; it made no difference that she couldn't discern his exact features. He obviously loved both of them, and if he was Jamie's dad, he was undoubtedly gorgeous._

"_I make him laugh," daddy bragged in response to Mary's allegation. "Eavesdropper or not."_

"_He's laughing AT you, not WITH you," Mary reiterated. "You better listen, doofus."_

_That same familiar sense sparked within once more; she held it close and kept it locked in her heart. It gave her a sense of peace; just a single word; a single word that seemed to explain everything. And a silly word at that. _

"_Did he eat his breakfast?" he questioned, choosing not to respond to the josh. "He looks full and fat," clapping a large palm on Jamie's belly._

_The child squealed with delight again, as though there was nothing more glorious than this. He chased the fingers that had made his tummy a drum and groped over his head, trying to grab._

_Daddy held them high, dangling the carrot, making the tips dance in front of his line of vision. For a brief moment, Mary thought she caught a glimpse of the man's eyes. They were the color of the sky and so large they seemed to fill his entire face. But the minute she blinked, they were gone, and she remained convinced it was simply the orbs of her son she'd seen._

"_Shameless…" she decided, clucking her tongue at the men and their antics. "Taunting your own kid."_

"_Oh, like you don't," daddy claimed, allowing his fingers to slip a notch; Jamie grabbed them and tried to put them in his mouth. _

"_I mostly save the taunting for you," Mary reminded him, loving how carefree this whole thing felt._

_There was a time when being awake at five-thirty would've irritated her beyond belief, no matter what the reason. But right now, she couldn't even consider the possibility of being asleep. And miss this? She wouldn't dream of it._

"_Don't I know it…" daddy leaned in._

_Mary suddenly knew what he was doing and she only had a second to act. Caught off guard but pleased nonetheless, she allowed Jamie to fade into oblivion and the room suddenly consisted of this man and this man only. And, just as suddenly, he wasn't daddy anymore._

_But, who was he? He was this magnificent, brilliant being who had just left his post as father and slipped into his other role. He snatched Mary's lips in his, drinking in the softness and supple quality; how they lingered on his flesh and then plunged deeper, simply eating it up. _

_Just before Mary's hand found the back of his neck to slip him as close as possible, the scene swirled from her mind like a cloud of fog had interrupted the vista she'd fallen into. At first, she was lost; still trying to return the gesture so gently bestowed on her. She couldn't hear anything anymore; it was fuzzy and she was suspended as though in midair; a never-ending kiss._

_But then, the haze spun aside and she found herself in her living room. _

_It was a different day. How Mary knew this, she wasn't sure. Just that, it was afternoon and the sky outside the front window was grey and gloomy. It was obviously winter, because there were patches of snow clumped on fallen brown leaves. _

_The mood inside her home could not have been more contradictory of the weather, however. She noticed oddities just as she had with the curtains; things that seemed to be out of place, but didn't really make much difference. For instance, the island in the kitchen seemed to be off-center and the color of the countertops wasn't what she remembered._

_All the important pieces were there. Several toy trucks littered the rug along with a ring-stacking contraption, and wooden blocks that had clearly been chewed on. It was comfortably cluttered._

_Mary was crouched on her knees at the far end of the coffee table. Jamie had a minimal coating of blonde hair now; close to a full head. His blue eyes were wide in anticipation; he wore jeans turned up in cuffs and a yellow sweatshirt that was too long in the sleeves._

"_Jamie, come to mama…" she even clapped her hands like he was a dog. "Come on; you can do it…"_

_Jamie bounced his legs excitedly and poked his tongue out of his mouth, concentrating hard. He was ready, but also reluctant. Mary must've seemed so far away from him._

"_He'll take off when he decides it's time," said a philosophical voice behind her._

_Daddy was back, like he'd been there all along._

"_Can you read his mind now?" Mary quipped._

"_You can see it in his eyes," daddy assured her. "He's revving up. He'll know when it feels right."_

"_Don't be scared…" Mary encouraged, ignoring the man, who was a looming and towering shadow above her. "Mama will catch you."_

_She'd never, ever, ever let him fall. Never. She was a mother. She would never let that happen._

_Evidently, the father disagreed, "It might be best to let him topple. He'll have to get used to it if he's starting to walk."_

"_He's already a year old; shouldn't he have been walking before now?" Mary inquired upward to the floating, faceless individual. Something in her said she was worried about this. "He's not behind, is he?"_

"_Right on schedule," daddy was confident._

_How was it that he knew absolutely everything? He didn't even hesitate. She was very lucky he was Jamie's father, whatever his mysterious relationship to her._

"_Oh…" he interrupted Mary's thoughts and pointed a finger toward the other end of the room. "I think we might have pending liftoff."_

_He was right. Jamie had tentatively started using the coffee table as a guide, inching along its outer edges toward the end. This was hardly new, but he'd been casting the space beyond with covert, excited glances that said he might be ready to try without a net. Mary was perched about five feet away, near the television._

"_That's it, sir…" daddy stated. "Slow and steady; easy does it…"_

_Jamie paid no attention, resolute in his quest. He made it to the corner easily, and then proceeded to bounce up and down again. This was the real test._

_Mary couldn't contain herself, "Come see me, handsome…"_

_An instinct came to her._

_An instinct. An intuition. How boundlessly wonderful it was to have such a thing. She knew just what to do without even thinking. She stretched out a hand, fingers longer than even those above her. It hung, suspended, between her and her son like a rope or a bridge. A path to safety._

_As she'd hoped, Jamie mimicked her and extended his own, far pudgier hand. A bashful smile worked onto his face and his blue eyes glimmered tantalizingly. Mary allowed him the smallest stroke of skin, fingertips brushing one another, before she pulled back again. _

_Somehow, she felt certain that first taste was all he needed._

"_I'm right here."_

_She was never going anywhere._

_Once more, "I'm right here."_

_And in an instant, as though the stars had aligned, it happened. One foot preceded the other; a bare and ten-toed foot. It stuck to the hardwood; planted firmly and with poise. As soon as one ventured forth, the other followed almost effortlessly. With two feet came the removal of two hands; the last clutch on security abandoned._

_The millisecond Jamie hovered there felt as though it lasted minutes, Mary on the brink of terror that he would crumple and fall. But, he seemed to have far more faith in his own abilities and the absence of something to hold onto boosted him forward._

_Two steps and, just as quickly, three. He swayed the longer he was mobile, as though blowing in a light breeze, but spurred by his own confidence, nothing could stop him. He was free and buoyant, alight with independence and poise. Mary watched him close in on her and, seconds before he was about to crash, she denied the man's instruction and seized him._

_Jamie let out a charming, otherworldly shriek in his thrill, and his mother had to keep herself from matching him._

"_Jamie! You did it!" she shouted for all to hear. "You're such a big boy…"_

_He was trembling in her arms, overcome with triumph and perhaps even a little frightened at what an adventure he had embarked upon. He soaked up safety's strong hand now that he was back in his mother's arms, resting with his chin over her shoulder while she jostled him on bended knee._

"_Knew you had it in you…" the man's voice intoned from above. That same wide hand reached down and patted his beautiful blonde head, "That's my guy."_

"_I love you…" Mary whispered, not knowing if she was talking to the man or to her son, but she didn't care. "I love you…"_

_Jamie quivered excitedly in her embrace and Mary could feel his heart thudding against her own; two beats merging as one. It was an invigorating sound; one she could hear over and over._

_Thump. Thump. Thump._

Mary thought for sure her own sadistic heart had woken her up; it was beating so fast. It was coming out her mouth in ragged gasps, like someone had been chasing her. She put a hand to her chest as though to steady it, very much alone and confined in her dark bedroom.

As her mind slowed to a crawl and she remembered she was at home in bed, the figures started to return to her brain. Her fingers, even the bandaged one, were tingling and twitching, almost as though she'd been grabbing hold of something. And then it came to her.

Jamie.

Stunning, perfect, cherub-cheeked, blue-eyed Jamie. Her imagined son. For, there was no denying it now. He'd appeared two separate nights, and this time in two separate instances. He was getting older. She'd now seen him after birth, for an early morning feeding, and witnessed his first steps. A child – her child. A little boy. A little boy with a moniker derived from her abandoning father.

And the man. Still, he had no face and no name, but now she knew something else. Whoever he was, she'd depicted him the father of her baby.

With a large exhale and immeasurable shame, Mary made a promise to herself that if she wanted to move on, she was going to have to stop going to bed with figments of a doting Marshall and a pretend child dancing in her head.

XXX

**A/N: Jamie's back and he's putting Mary off her game! What's a girl to do? ;) **


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N: I'm very pleased that so many people enjoyed the dream sequences. As I said before, sometimes I worry that they're a little too out there, but unlike my other stories, this set of dreams happen to be rather essential. ;)**

XXX

Mary's Sunday was quiet and depressing; the weather seemed to be downtrodden as well. The rain had now been replaced by the clouds from the day before, as well as a hot wind; not as strong as the ones from Friday, but persistent nonetheless. It rattled the windowpanes and only encouraged her to stay inside and robotically peruse the Sunday paper. She didn't want to call Marshall after everything he'd done for her the day before; between Jinx and her theatrics, he'd been a busy man. She also took to avoiding her mother, who at least seemed to get the hint, and didn't call.

Unfortunately, all her time alone gave her a chance to brood heavily over her dreams from the night before. She was rapidly becoming obsessed with every waking detail she could remember. Although Mary continually told herself they meant nothing, the way her brain churned and spun with every facet proved otherwise. She couldn't let go of those brightened, cheerful images; Jamie had been so sweet, so loveable and innocent. It was all she could do not to lie down for a nap and bring him forth into her subconscious again. He seemed to be fulfilling a desire she had been denied, although she vowed to keep this close to the vault. If she told, everyone would think she had lost her mind.

It wasn't until that evening, after she had already finished her dinner and was contemplating the unwelcoming day ahead – back to work and including a doctor's appointment – that she heard from someone.

Swinging her legs off the couch and pattering to the front door in her socks, she pulled the handle and found Brandi waiting on the other side. It was growing dark and the breeze was whipping her sister's bangs around, the rest of her hair confined to a ponytail. But, there she stood nonetheless, and wearing an expression that said to Mary she had come to beg for forgiveness.

She didn't bite right away and leaned in the doorframe, allowing a smattering of leaves to blow into the entryway.

"What do you want?"

Brandi sighed, having expected this, and didn't meet Mary's gaze, "Could I come in?" she spoke to the ground. In a lower voice, "Please?"

Mary allowed the wind to take over their short-lived discussion while she debated. On the one hand, she had no desire to allow Brandi over the threshold. She'd been as selfish and inconsiderate as the older sister had ever known her to be. On the other hand, she didn't have the energy for fighting, too consumed with her bizarre dreams.

Still, she kept up the façade, "I'd like to hear a reason why I should," she said scathingly, glowering through the dusk. "If it's just because mom got on your ass, you can forget it."

"That isn't why," Brandi whispered so meekly that Mary almost couldn't hear over the wind. "Please Mary?" she pleaded. "I want to talk to you."

As far as Mary was concerned, this only put a point in the 'stay on the stoop' category because she'd had enough talking to last a lifetime. However, she would rather die than coddle a weeping Brandi, as if she was the one who had been wronged, and so she stepped aside.

"Get in here…" she grumbled. "Before you get swept up in some tornado."

Neither one of them laughed, and Mary noted, once in the clear light of the living room, that Brandi at least had the grace to look ashamed of herself. She gingerly placed her purse on the couch, but kept her arms folded across her middle, like she was trying to keep her intestines from falling out. Mary crossed the room, pretending she didn't notice.

"So, Squish…" she mused, sounding as flippant as she could muster, pacing across the arch in the hallway. "Something I can do for you? Have anymore life advice you feel like you need to give me?" she deserved the cynicism; she really did. "Because really, I don't know what I did before last night when you mapped out for me why I don't have a husband or a child."

Brandi looked as though it was taking some strength not to bat back at Mary with some sort of rebuttal – something along the lines of, 'It's not like you haven't done the same,' but she managed. This went a little ways toward the elder sister giving her some credit.

Regardless, she wasn't endeared to the silence, "You better tell me why you showed up here soon," Mary demanded, halting her strides. "Or it's back to the porch with you."

Brandi hemmed and hawed a bit more, testing Mary's patience almost to the breaking point. She would've been perfectly happy to spend the entire day alone, poring over Jamie and what he meant, knowing this was the alternative. But, just when she was seriously considering throwing up her hands and kicking Brandi through the door, she gave it up.

Hands and elbows shrinking from her enclosed position, she exhaled and finally drew up enough courage to look Mary dead in the face.

"Mary, I'm sorry…"

She ought to have known there would be tears. It annoyed her, but she kept silent as Brandi's voice became hoarser the longer she spoke.

"I'm really-really-really-really sorry…" she bawled, bolting the length of the room in no time. "I'm so sorry; I was such a brat…"

To Mary's horror, she flung her arms around her, and the taller was not fast enough to tell herself to be delicate.

"Get off; don't hug me…"

Although she was serious, she didn't sound overly spiteful and Brandi skittered away, hands fluttering in all directions around her face. Mary still felt stiff in the aftermath, comfortable being touched only by Marshall in her current mood. Fortunately, Brandi was too wrapped up in her own self-loathing to even notice.

"I'm sorry Mary…" she bleated for about the fifth time. "And I'm so sorry about the baby; I feel so bad that I didn't say anything or tell you that I felt awful for you. I wasn't thinking at all…"

"That's for sure," Mary muttered under her breath.

"I don't want to make excuses; I don't want to make it seem like there's a good reason I did what I did…"

"Something tells me that isn't going to stop you," Mary replied, more acidic still.

Brandi gave an enormous gulp, like she was trying to swallow a lemon, and Mary noticed even in the dim light of the living room that her cheeks were blotchy and red. She swiped her fingers under her eyes and across her face, attempting to stem the flow, but it didn't make much difference, as she kept right on crying.

"Please, can I tell you why I was mad?" she asked earnestly. "Please? It's not a good reason – it's really-really stupid, but I didn't want you to think it was just because! I just, I overreacted, but…!"

"Brandi," Mary held up a hand to shut her up, already tired of the drama, wondering how Marshall had dealt with her thespian nature the past few days. Still, her sister was about to hyperventilate, and she'd never gone that far. "Just, come sit down and tell me. Whatever," she shook her head. "I don't really care, but fine."

"Thank-you," Brandi said at once, as though she'd just been granted asylum. "Thank-you, Mary…"

She said nothing else and Mary waved her toward the couch, indicating that they should both sit down. Brandi hobbled her way over, still sniffling loudly, and plunked down in the throw pillows, reclining and making herself at home. Mary sat a good distance away, positioning herself on the opposite end.

With a lurch, she got a decent view of the space of floor in front of the television. She'd been crouching just there in her dream from the night before. Jamie had walked from this very coffee table. She felt like she could step into that world at any moment; the pictures were so tangible.

With an effort, she tuned back into Brandi, although she'd meant what she'd said – she didn't care what her sister's reasoning was for being such an insensitive twat.

"So, what's the deal Squish?" she prompted hesitantly. "Let's get this over with."

Brandi worked to calm herself a little more freely, running a sleeve under her nose and plucking up some rationality before going on.

"I know I shouldn't have gotten involved in this whole Mark thing…" she admitted huskily.

"But, you did so just get going," Mary interrupted swiftly.

"Right," Brandi readily agreed, obviously keen to discuss now that Mary wasn't acting so haughty. "Well, I never told you this, but last year when Scott was in town, I tried to help him get a job at the dealership with me and Peter."

Mary sighed and rolled her eyes at the mention of her half-brother, hardly daring to believe someone she abhorred so heartily could make it into an already dreadful conversation.

She cast her trademark blame without thinking, "Brandi, why would you do that?" she scolded. "Jesus; the guy is a day-trader; he's as erratic as an irregular heartbeat…"

"I know, I know…" Brandi bemoaned soulfully. "But, he was in a tough spot and I wanted to help him," she defended herself even in her guilt. "It obviously didn't go well; that's why he went back to Miami; didn't want to cause me any more trouble…"

Somehow, Mary didn't think Scott's failure as a car salesman was the last of his trouble, but she didn't say so, biting on her lip to keep from doing so.

"Well, Peter wasn't exactly mad at me, but I know he had to have thought I was really stupid for bringing him to the Autoplex."

A flicker of pity coursed through Mary's veins; a flash she tried to deny, but couldn't. She knew Brandi wasn't kidding or playing the victim by saying what she had. Her lack of self-esteem went unrivaled by most, unless you counted the older sister's most recent tribulations.

"Squish…" she breathed tiredly against her will. "Peter doesn't think you're stupid. He wouldn't be marrying you if he did."

"I know…" she repeated. "I know _now_. But, back then we weren't engaged and I was just…" she shrugged, a few stray tears escaping in her uncertainty. She didn't finish her sentence and plowed on, "Anyway, when Mark was in town a couple months ago, he really did _want_ a job…" a steadfast claim. "He did; I wasn't trying to find him one…"

Mary decided she didn't care if this was true or not, "And?"

"Well…" Brandi waffled momentarily. "It seemed like a good opportunity to try the dealership again, and he _is_ nice Mary, and he's good with people…"

"Yeah, he's a prince," she mumbled, but without heat. "Where do you fit in?"

Brandi seemed to sense Mary was getting impatient and hurried to finish up, however ridiculous the reasoning for her outburst might be.

"I just thought if he could get to know Mark; if they could get to know each other, then he might be a decent fit selling cars. You'll think it's dumb, but I wanted to show Peter I could find him a _great_ salesman, after Scott," she explained quickly. "I'm so worried about when we get married and I'll have to start wearing my ring at work. What if I don't know how to sell anything unless I'm flirting? It doesn't mean anything, and Peter knows it doesn't mean anything, but I swear; I'm sure I suck as some kind of vendor…" she began to wilt the longer she went on. "And, I guess I just didn't want Peter to know it. If I could prove I could find someone as great as Mark, then he might think I'm really good at my job, and not some blonde bimbo like his parents do."

Mary was careful to remain mum for a moment while Brandi caught her breath, trying to make sure she understood. Brandi hadn't quite concluded anything, but she was pretty sure she got the gist now.

"So…you were mad at _me_ because you were worried Mark might be mad if he found out about the baby?" Mary raised her eyebrows, trying to clarify. "And then, he might not speak to you or me, he wouldn't take the job with Peter, and you would look like some big dope? Is that more or less what's going on here?"

Brandi seemed a little surprised Mary had uncovered the mystery so quickly, but she wasn't a US Marshal for nothing. Hearing it laid out so simply also seemed to alert her to how absurd the whole line of thinking really was.

"I guess so…" she finally conceded. "But, it wasn't fair Mary. I was only thinking about me, and I shouldn't have."

Mary wanted to say she understood, even if it was a lie just to let bygones be bygones. But, even though she knew Brandi backward and forward, it was still difficult for her to see her _this_ doubtful of herself. She was used to the way she wallowed and bathed in her own self-pity, but things seemed to have been turning up since Peter. Now, she was learning she was just as broken as ever? And holding more stock in what Peter thought than what Mary might think if she said something so insulting?

Mary used to be her whole world. It scared her to think her baby sister was moving past that kind of worship.

"I'll ask Peter not to call Mark," Brandi asserted abruptly when Mary got lost in thought. "I mean, I guess I shouldn't be trying to use other people to prove myself anyway…"

"Brandi, you're _good_ at your job," Mary found herself interrupting upon hearing the last phrase. "Peter thinks so; I've heard him. And, he obviously thinks you're a good person too, because he wants to marry you," equating the two. "Why are you so worried he's going to ditch you?"

Mary expected her to take longer to answer, but she actually knew, "Because everyone does eventually," she murmured in a deep voice. "Why shouldn't he?"

The taller, traditionally more level-headed of the two wasn't entirely sure how this discussion had steered onto Brandi and off herself, but she should've expected it. She had been mistreated, and yet she was the one having to reassure Brandi. It was textbook.

"You're not a meth head anymore, Squish," not that she'd ever really been one. "Peter had his problems too – everyone does. He clearly accepts who you are and wants to build a life with you. You should feel lucky, not looking for danger behind every corner."

Not like Mary did; Mary, who never believed anything was going to work out. She forever braced herself for the fall, operating under the mantra, 'No expectations and no disappointments.' She was a real hypocrite when it came to telling Brandi she should be able to just pack up and clinch happiness without worrying who was going to take it from you next.

"Just, with the wedding only a few months away, I've been really insane…" the younger disclosed, as though this explained all of it. "You'll still be in it, won't you?"

She arched her eyebrows and looked expectantly at Mary, wondering if her gaffe from the night before had cost her-her maid of honor. Mary hadn't wanted to step into the role in the first place, and would've been more than thoughtless about turning it down, but she knew she couldn't. Who knew what Brandi would resort to if she did?

"Yes, I'll still be your 'MOH,'" she sighed, putting much emphasis on the cheesy acronym. "At least you won't have to get me a tent for a dress now," she added without thinking, remembering at the onset of her pregnancy that she'd pondered herself in some mumu on Brandi's side of the aisle.

This seemed to make her sister aware of what they really had not conferred on, which was the miscarriage. Mary's aspiration for talking wasn't high, and especially not with Brandi, whom she still felt a little resentful toward. But, it appeared now was as good a time as any.

"I really am sorry about the baby, Mary," she whispered, almost like it was a secret and shouldn't be broadcast. "You definitely deserve one; I never should've made it sound like you didn't."

There was no 'making it sound like,' Mary thought. She'd said it outright, but the elder also knew she would have to accept the apologies.

"It's not important anymore, Squish," she tried to convince her as much as she tried to convince herself, mind still full to the brim with visions of Jamie. "It happened; I'm dealing with it."

"Well…maybe you could have another one someday," Brandi suggested eagerly, visibly keen to repair Mary's life after having shattered it so recently. She leaned off the throw pillows and crossed her legs underneath her, "Or, you could adopt or something…"

Mary let out a derisive snort, thinking only of her scheme to give up her _own_ child for adoption. The fact that she might in turn take one from somebody else was bogus.

"I'm old, Brandi," she used as an excuse, just as she had with Marshall. "The fat lady sang," she worked to make it sound like she did not especially care, but it didn't come off.

"Well, then that's why you could adopt," she insisted, sticking to her guns. "Really, you'd make such a good mom!"

Mary could tell by the light in Brandi's red-rimmed eyes that they had surpassed true adult conversation, and had shifted almost seamlessly into senseless talk of cute babies and frilly miniature clothes. Brandi was no longer seriously considering the sort of toll losing the kid had taken on Mary; it was all about what the future could bring, and all she saw was a chubby, happy baby; no thought of how to actually get one among them.

"That's debatable," she wasn't going to play the game for long, but expertly kept her voice stiff. "I have enough trouble taking care of myself, Squish. I don't need somebody else in the mix too."

"But…"

To Mary's intense relief, her sister's words were cut short by a rapping knock on the front door. Mary didn't know who had come to call, but she was glad they had. It gave her a ready-made-excuse to get rid of Brandi. She caught the gleam in Mary's eyes at this development too, and actually managed to take the hint for once.

"You expecting someone?" she asked, raised halfway with her head over her shoulder.

"Probably Marshall," Mary grumped, thinking if she'd hadn't heard from him all day, it was likely him with another check-up.

"Well, I should go then…" though it was clear she didn't want to, even as she grabbed her purse. She took her time getting to the door, Mary following, hardly daring to believe she'd fallen into such good fortune during an awkward conversation. "Thanks for listening to me, Mary," she finished as they stopped right in front of the frosted glass.

Mary could tell, even through the blurred panes that it definitely was Marshall. She tore her eyes from his figure and registered that Brandi had said something, "Whatever," was the best she could come up with. "Just, don't gush or you're not going to be forgiven."

Brandi gave a shaky, spirited giggle that almost made her cry again, but she held it in.

"Okay…" she agreed. "I love you…"

Mary saw her coming in for another hug, before she remembered that Mary had pushed her away not ten minutes before. She backed off, shoes scuttling, and fed her a sheepish smile to make up for it. Knowing she appeared stand-offish and cold, Mary met her halfway and roughed her around her right arm to show her affection.

"Me too, Squish," she'd never been good at reciprocating. "Say hi to Peter."

Brandi consented as she opened the door to step out onto the stoop. Marshall, wearing an oddly large and baggy suit jacket over his jeans, seemed surprised to see her there, but covered very well and tried to smile. His eyes darted from the older sister to the younger and back again before he found his voice.

"Evening, Brandi…" he uttered pleasantly. "I hope I wasn't interrupting anything…" he looked to Mary as he said this.

"Nope…" Brandi assured him, knowing it was what Mary would want. "No; I was just leaving. Goodnight…" she waved absently over her shoulder, almost skipping down the walk in typical lighthearted fashion, becoming more buoyant each minute that she had escaped a beating from her older sister.

Mary didn't take the time to bid her farewell and simply stepped aside so Marshall could get through; thinking her house was starting to remind her of a revolving door. She dropped her lenient demeanor at once by the time he was inside, and sounded rather snappish in greeting him.

"What's up?" she spat harshly, wandering back to the center of the room, unable to sit down this time.

"Nothing significant with me…" he reported skeptically. Glancing to the now closed door, "You and Brandi didn't get into it again, did you?"

"No," she snapped mulishly, wondering why her agitation had spiked all of a sudden; she hated having to be the bigger person. "I don't want to talk about it," she shook her head, stuffing her hands in her pockets where she stopped outside the counter. "She said she was sorry; let's just move on."

Marshall knew a testy Mary when he heard it, and opted to do as she was asking, "Absolutely," he nodded soundly. "How has the rest of your day been?" his cowboy boots thudded on the hardwood as he went after her.

"Slow," Mary replied shortly. And then, to get the attention off herself, "Did you forget to do laundry or something?" she gestured up and down his frame. "Why is that coat ten sizes too big?"

"Is it?" Marshall examined himself innocently. "I just grabbed it out of the closet this morning."

But, Mary wasn't fooled by his nonchalance. Marshall wore a very specific type of jacket. He was so tall and his waist so long that he often bored her to tears with tales of trying on suits for hours trying to find the perfect fit. He was like a woman, she often said. This one was too broad in the shoulders and hung too loosely on his frame; it looked as though it had never been worn before, which told her it had probably been a gift from someone less-knowledgeable about the state of his attire.

Abigail, perhaps?

"Out with it," Mary ordered. "Your girlfriend try to do you a favor and end up buying you some smock you're swimming in?"

"No," Marshall actually laughed, though he frequently refuted where Mary's jabs at Abigail were concerned. All of a sudden, he changed speeds before Mary could blink, "I kind of wanted to brace you for this a little more."

Mary's eyes widened in annoyance, "For you wearing a different coat? It's kind of sad you think I need to be briefed on something like that."

"No, not the coat."

It took Mary a minute as she roved all over his lanky figure, trying to figure out what in God's name he was playing at when she saw it. The coat was moving; quivering, actually. There was a defined lump right up near Marshall's chest, making the buttons shudder. Without warning, the ball would shift slightly and then vibrate again. Marshall's hand kept following the sensation, and he couldn't keep his eyes off it.

Mary had a sudden, horrific idea and didn't hesitate to make it known she was not a fan, "You'd better be having heart palpitations," she jabbed a finger. "Whatever is in there better not be for me."

Marshall sighed, but she could tell he wasn't really exasperated, and he also gave up the ghost. Drawing his fingers down the collar, he scooped out a grey and black striped fur ball that was unmistakably a kitten, no bigger than both of Mary's hands together, and scrabbling all over Marshall's hand, desperate for an escape.

"Give me a chance…" he began, but Mary had no intentions of doing so.

"Marshall, a _cat_?" she hollered incredulously. "A _cat_? I'm upset, and I know I'm old, but really; have I reached batty-cat-woman-status?"

"That's not what this is about!" Marshall persisted gallantly, holding onto the creature with one hand while he worked to remove the concealing jacket. He wore a plain white shirt underneath, and cast the outerwear aside. "It doesn't have anything to do with you being old. She's a rescue; her name's…"

"I don't want to know her name!" she actually covered her ears childishly; glad she could have something trivial to focus on; it kept her mind off Jamie. "She isn't mine, and you take her back where she came from!"

"Just listen to me!" Marshall said, louder this time, and he took a step forward. Mary halted and scowled, but shut up. "She's a rescue; she was going to be put down next week…"

"Play the guilt card, why don't you?" Mary mumbled, but he ignored her.

"You were just saying last night that you would like somebody or something to take care of," he reminded her. "Well…" he pulled the flailing being with both hands into his chest, where she tried to use her razor-sharp-teeth to bite on his fingers. "Here's your chance."

"I don't remember saying I wanted a cat," Mary pronounced snootily. "They shed and make noise and this one's barely the size of a walnut…"

"Cats are _also_ very independent," Marshall schooled forcefully, trying still harder to shut her down. "Like someone else I know," this earned him a glare. "They don't rely on people nearly as much as dogs do…"

"If you had bought me a dog, your head would be in the toilet right now…"

"She's sweet, Mary," his voice turned more sympathetic in his pleading. "She really is. You could use a companion; someone to rely on you."

He knew her way-way too well. It was in her nature, in her very bones, to try and protect anything that crossed her path. It was the streak that had been ingrained in her since the age of seven when her father had walked out the door. She had to save her mother, her sister, and now according to Marshall, this mewling little kitten.

If only she could've saved the baby.

"She's mangy," Mary said spitefully in order to keep from voicing what she was thinking. "Look at her fur…"

A finger extended and tried to demonstrate this by stroking the coat, but she pulled back before touching, reminded forcefully once again of her dream. She'd held out her hands invitingly for Jamie too. Standing in this very spot.

Fortuitously, Marshall was too wrapped up in her trying to pet the cat to spot this weird behavior.

"She is hardly mangy," he argued, holding her out like a peace offering; she was still trying to nip at his fingers. "She's a short hair; she won't even shed that much."

Mary, careful to keep her face expressionless, tentatively replaced her finger now that Marshall was close enough, and ran it over the little cretin's head. It was soft and supple, just as she'd anticipated. Her head was hardly bigger than a golf ball, the ears much too large by comparison. Her markings were mostly a light grey with a few black stripes dusting the fur, her eyes a sort of light blue. When Mary scratched harder with her nail, she shut her lids and a low rumbling sound seemed to come from her belly.

Mary didn't have a lot of experience with cats, "What is she doing?" the thunder from within freaked her out.

"What do you mean?" Marshall seemed amused.

"That sound; what is that sound?"

Now he was definitely amused, "She's purring," he informed her with a smirk. "Surely you know that cats purr."

"Of course I know that cats purr, Poindexter!" she raised her voice again, patting without thinking about it now, feeling the ball of a head shift itself into her palm as though with content. "I just didn't know it sounded like she was about to lose her dinner."

"It is a very common notion that cats purr when they are satisfied, although it is also a misconception in some ways," he couldn't resist the opportunity to impart wisdom. "Sometimes, they purr because they feel threatened or even nervous."

"So basically…" Mary gave him the eagle-eye. "She either loves me or she hates me right now."

He gave her a frustrated look, "She's getting used to you," he declared. "Do you like everyone the minute you meet?"

"I don't like anyone years after I've known them," Mary reminded him.

Marshall allowed her to get away with that, but without asking permission, he slowly shifted the cat from his hand to Mary's. He knew it was better to just strive forward to avoid the protests, but she actually kept quiet. Slipping the being into her arms, she nuzzled her against her chest, still giving Marshall a dirty look. He thought she looked like a miser hoarding her faithful cohort, as if they were both in an old movie.

"Just give it a try," he advised diplomatically. "If she ends up being too much for you, Abigail and I can always take her."

This alone made Mary want to keep the cat. The idea of Marshall and Abigail owning a mutual pet was too much to contemplate. It was just the sort of corny thing some couples did.

"You're going to be paying for my furniture when she tears it up."

Marshall grinned, knowing this was approval from his best friend, "Consider it done."

She was like a gentle, rhythmic heartbeat against Mary's chest; a fuzzy motor. This action alone also jogged her memory of pressing Jamie against her in the dream. She willed herself to forget about it. It didn't matter; he wasn't real; he was never going to be.

"So, what is this thing's name?" she asked to divert. "What am I supposed to call her?"

"Beatrix," Marshall announced proudly, practically puffing out his chest. "From the late Romans; it means 'voyager' or 'traveler.'"

"Beatrix?" Mary wrinkled her nose. "Like those rabbits?"

"Ah, Beatrix Potter," Marshall latched on. "Right, but not exactly the same. Very impressive though, inspector. I wouldn't have you were well-versed in Peter Rabbit."

Mary simply shook her head, trying it on for size as the cat shifted and began trying to chew her fingers instead of Marshall's now. She was playful and she was probably wild, but she was also someone with which to spend her nights, and Mary supposed that was as much as she could ask for right now.

"Fine…" she stated, still sounding huffy. "I'll take her. But, I'm not promising anything."

XXX

**A/N: So, Mary's got a kitty LOL! I have to admit, after I wrote this, I remembered that my buddy Jayne Leigh had a cat in one of her lovely stories. Rest assured, I did not mean to swipe the idea Jayne, but I will definitely credit you for undoubtedly planting the seed! Sweet little Beatrix...someone Mary can dote on, even if she thinks she doesn't want to. **

**And Brandi…the air has cleared, but I wouldn't blame some of you if you're still rankled by her behavior. I did try to write her as more true to her 'selfish' side that she displayed now and then on the show, which I typically avoid because I do like the character. Always good to switch things up!**


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N: The e-mail notifications for reviews don't seem to be working! I thought I didn't have any comments on the last chapter (which wouldn't be unusual; it happens to the best of us!) but come to find many of you had left word and I didn't get the e-mail! Must be a glitch in the system. But, I was delighted to read them all together and find how many of you are happy about little Beatrix.**

XXX

As promised, Monday morning deposited Mary in the OBGYN's office at straight up nine o'clock, which meant she would be in the Sunshine Building about two and a half hours late. While she certainly didn't look forward to another examination, she was just grateful it was at the doctor's building rather than the hospital. She feared she would have some sort of PTSD-type reaction to being near the operating room again.

Mary was disgruntled to find she had to have her blood drawn to check something called a 'hormone level' but what really bothered her were the women in the waiting room. It was much fuller than it had been at her impromptu appointment on Thursday, and all of her companions seemed ready to pop within moments. Their bellies were packed and round, perfectly rotund; their babies sheltered within a safe little hub. She shied away as though of a different species, dreading for one of them to ask 'if this was her first.'

By the time the exam was over and done with, she was thoroughly uncomfortable and dying to leave but it appeared that Doctor Reese, whom she had been transferred to once again, had some kind of follow-up information.

"Everything looks good, Mary…" she declared, scanning the reports on a clipboard while Mary sat with her legs dangling over the edge of the bed, clothes back on her frame. "No additional problems from what I can detect. Helen said the D and C went without incident."

"I suppose…" Mary voiced uncertainly, not sure how she was expected to take 'without incident.' "They didn't say anything went wrong; I got to go home like an hour after it was over."

"That's pretty routine," Doctor Reese replied, flipping her papers back over her clipboard. "Physically, have you been feeling normal? Have you had much pain?"

"Not really…" Mary said softly, glad she had targeted the word 'physically.' "I had some cramps the first few days, but nothing bad."

"Good-good…" Doctor Reese nodded, making a note. "Now…"

She suddenly turned more serious, clamping her pen down and fixing Mary with a rather penetrating stare. The other woman had no idea what this was about, and it suddenly made her nervous. She didn't know Doctor Reese that well, and this was proved by her next words.

"I know we haven't had the opportunity to get acquainted," she claimed, and Mary noticed her voice took a definite sympathetic turn. "But, I always want to ask my patients how they're feeling…" a pause. And then, "…How they're feeling emotionally after a miscarriage. Because, Mary…" she came closer, increasing the inspector's anxiety. "I have a few numbers of people you could call if you want to speak to someone."

Mary had a fleeting thought that Marshall or someone had put her up this, but knew it was impossible. As it was, she was horrified at the idea of talking to strangers about something she was so ill-at-ease about herself. She intended to make this known at once.

"No…" she shook her head. "No, I don't think I need to talk to anybody. I'm fine," she offered a convincing nod.

Doctor Reese smiled rather grimly, "Helen mentioned that you're a fan of toughing it out," she shared. "But really Mary, there's no shame in having a discussion about this; these people are professionals…"

"No," Mary interrupted, more firmly this time, hoping she didn't have to resort to rudeness. "Really. I'm okay. My partner's been very kind in giving me an ear, so…" she trailed, as though this explained it.

Apparently, she had confused her physician, however, because Doctor Reese slipped the clipboard under her elbow in order to cross her arms and frowned. Mary had no idea what this was about, until she elaborated.

"Your partner?" she questioned. "I wasn't aware that you…"

Mary suddenly understood. Doctor Reese thought she was referencing a romantic partner, one that hadn't been invited along to her very few OBGYN appointments.

"Oh, no…" she waved a pointless hand, as though to sweep the notion aside. "My partner – I'm a US Marshal. My partner at work," she clarified. "We work on cases together," she was so eager to clear things up that she was going to end up giving everything away. "That kind of partner. A man partner."

Why had she gone and tacked that on the end? She was hardly a homophobe.

But, Doctor Reese was smiling more naturally now, "Of course, sorry…" she grinned further at the redness seeping into Mary's cheeks. "I shouldn't have assumed."

Mary had no good response for that, and it wouldn't have mattered if she did. Doctor Reese was still jabbering, and while pleasant enough, she wasn't the same as Helen, who definitely handled Mary in a very particular way. Doctor Reese was treating her like any other patient, which she didn't entirely appreciate.

"Well, if you change your mind Mary, don't hesitate to give me a call…" she instructed semi-sternly. "It can be very therapeutic to talk out your feelings."

"Well…" Mary was rather aggravated now that she was being dismissed, especially after yet another prodding appointment she hadn't wanted to come to in the first place. Fiddling with her shirt to make sure the hems were straight, "Most people would tell you I don't have feelings to talk out."

Part of her was fulfilled that she had shocked Doctor Reese into silence; it made her feel like her old self. On the other hand, it reminded her all too closely of her argument with Brandi, stowed away as it might have been. She also couldn't help imagining the look on Marshall's face if he'd heard her say that. He'd have been crushed.

"I didn't want to offend," Doctor Reese eventually managed, and she sounded definitely businesslike now. "I just prefer to become invested in my patients so they don't feel their situation has been released without a second thought, especially when it comes to miscarriage."

Somehow, hearing the word spoken by a near-stranger was unnerving to Mary. She fidgeted on the cot, suddenly wishing she'd been a bit more tactful. Judging a doctor the first few seconds though the door didn't do anybody any good.

"Sorry…" she mumbled a little half-heartedly, playing with her shirt again. "I just…" maybe some honesty couldn't hurt, although not of the emotional variety. "Coming here isn't my idea of a fun time, and I didn't enjoy that process Doctor Wolk used to take care of everything," referencing the D and C.

Mary could tell by the way Doctor Reese's eyes narrowed that she was dying to ask why this might be, but she was an MD, not a psychiatrist. Instead, she took the apology at face value and tried to bounce off of it.

"Many women find it difficult – seeing all the pregnant women in the waiting room…"

How had she guessed? Mary wondered wildly. She was more of a formulaic case than she'd thought.

"But…let's get back to your results…" she suggested, seeing Mary about to panic and snap again. She consulted her trusty clipboard, "Your HCG levels are looking well. I would estimate it will still be a few weeks until you're down to zero…"

Seizing the opportunity to talk about something scientific devoid of sentiment, Mary spoke up, "What is an HCG level? That's why I had to have my blood drawn," she reminded them both. "But, nobody really mentioned what it's for…"

"It stands for Human Chorionic Gonadotropin…" she began.

Marshall-speak, Mary registered at once.

"It's the pregnancy hormone," she detailed further. "It helps to detect the pregnancy after conception. I can send you home with some information if you're curious," she went rooting for a brochure-type pamphlet on the counter. "Explaining it is more complicated than what it actually is."

Mary took the paper through her fingers, thinking she didn't care enough to do research, and would have Marshall take a look if she became especially inquisitive.

"But, what might interest you most about the HCG levels is that when they drop low, we'll know you have a possibility of conceiving again."

Mary looked up from the pamphlet so fast she nearly got whiplash. She imagined she was giving Doctor Reese quite a roller coaster; first she was meek, then snippy, and now alarmed. The idea of trying to get pregnant a second time was cropping up again and again; first with Marshall, insisting she could have a child if she really wanted, and then with Brandi.

Somehow, through her stone face and widened eyes, she found her voice.

"Conceive again?" it came out in a whisper, as though she'd never heard of anything so otherworldly.

"Yes…" Doctor Reese tried to proceed as normally as possible, though it was clear she was having trouble with Mary's trance. "You won't go on your cycle again until your HCG levels are all the way down. You should be able to get pregnant again as soon as that happens."

Mary shook her head at the mention of the word 'cycle,' thinking she shouldn't be embarrassed, and that Marshall would've taken the whole thing in stride. With an odd jolt, she suddenly wished he were there, no matter how appalled she might be.

"How…how…?" her throat had gone very dry. "How long does that usually take?"

Why was she even asking? She had no one to get pregnant _with_. What sort of questions were these?

"It does vary," Doctor Reese informed her. "Probably four to six weeks, but it could be sooner. We'll just have to wait it out, but I see no reason you wouldn't be able to conceive again."

She obviously thought this news would cheer Mary up slightly; that she was suddenly becoming nosy because she'd been worried about her abilities to have a child. But, the inspector did not believe blindly in anything, and she noticed something Doctor Reese seemed to have conveniently left out.

"But, I'm…" something in her wanted to sound the expert, but there was no other word for it. "I'm old. I can't get pregnant. I'm too old. Right?"

Mary had no clue why she was looking for confirmation. It terrified her to hear that it might be true; that she was past her prime. That there was yet another thing she could not control; a piece of herself she was losing without her consent.

Doctor Reese glanced briefly at her notes to make sure, but she didn't seem overly pessimistic.

"You're thirty-nine," she stated clerically. "I won't lie to you; it is harder after the age of thirty-five, but it's hardly impossible," she assured her.

Mary suddenly had a burning desire to ask if her dinosaur-like-eminence in the mothering community had been the reason she'd lost the baby, but she put a damper on it. Deep down, she didn't want to know.

"You'd be higher risk _after_ you became pregnant, should that happen," the physician was still speaking. "But, there are plenty of steps you can take to ensure the health of yourself and your baby. We can cross that bridge when we come to it."

There was a silence as Mary tried to digest all this. She was being told about everything very matter-of-factly, as though it all depended on perseverance and science, but it seemed so much harder than that. It seemed so much more unattainable. She still had the sinking feeling that her time was up. Even if she could surpass the age barrier, she had no man with whom to create a baby.

And she didn't want a baby, she reminded herself compellingly. She hadn't earned one. She was no mother. She was a WITSEC inspector with a soft-spoken, bad-ass boss, a loyal partner, and a new kitten that had already scuffed up her floors. Her mother and sister lingered in the wings, perfectly poised to move on with their lives. Mary was stuck and always would be.

"Mary, I know it can be tough to reconcile and take in right away," Doctor Reese conceded after awhile. "But, don't give up hope. There are many opportunities for you to be able to hold your very own baby in your arms."

A sudden vision flashed through Mary's subconscious. She saw a baby boy, a little over two, gabbling and pointing a single word. 'Mama.'

It was Jamie. She'd dreamt of him again the night before. He'd been building a block tower in her living room, and it had crashed over and over again to his continued gales of delight. He'd wanted to show her his masterpiece time after time while that man – daddy – hovered at the edges, watching.

This, perhaps, was why she'd been so distracted the entire appointment. The apparition hadn't come back in full until she'd allowed it to invade just now.

"Was there any way to tell the sex of the baby?" she blurted out without thinking, wondering if Doctor Reese wasn't going to order an examination of her head if she didn't start acting coherent soon. "Or was sixteen weeks too soon?" she'd forgotten she'd likely only been fourteen.

The other woman's eyes suddenly turned rather solemn, but Mary could tell even in the graveness of her features that she knew something. She'd been reading people long enough to be able to spot discomfort because of a mistake, or because the circumstances were simply awkward. This was definitely the latter, and Mary felt an impulsive pitch of fear.

What if her gut instinct had been wrong? Did she wish to find out how non-maternal she really was?

"Testing was performed after your D and C and yes, the gender was marked in your file," Doctor Reese responded slowly. "Would you like to know?"

Mary chewed hard on her lip, making a promise to herself that whatever she heard, she would not fall apart. She had given Doctor Reese enough to be concerned with for one day. She did not need some sobbing, harebrained basket case taking up space in her exam room.

She suddenly felt as though this would be a lot easier, once again, if Marshall was around, but she had to rely on herself now. She'd been doing it since she was seven.

A sober nod, "Yeah."

Doctor Reese gave only a quick glance to the chart to confirm, but she was sure.

"A boy."

And with a persistent sense of both terrible sadness and alleviating peace, Mary tried to content herself with the fact that, baby or not, at least she'd been intuitive enough to know her own son.

Her Jamie.

XXX

**A/N: This is probably one of the shortest chapters in the story, but I felt like it was important. Also, I hope my explanation of the HCG level is correct – it was rather complicated when I read about it, but underneath it actually seems fairly simple. Additionally, I tried to find out if one can tell the sex of a baby after miscarriage, and it seems to vary. Again, me and my creative license... ;) **


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N: You all were too kind when it came to the last chapter! I thought of it as a little bit of filler, but you guys latched right on! Thanks so much!**

XXX

To Mary's intense relief , when she got to the Sunshine Building after lunch, Marshall did not question her about her appointment, even though she was hours late. He must've sensed she would not want to discuss it, having had premonitions about his partner's distinct uneasiness when it came to the doctor.

Nonetheless, it still felt rather bizarre to her to sit at her desk and talk on the phone like nothing had happened. Things were a little too cordial; the sense of normalcy was too forced. She had half a mind to ask Marshall or Stan whether Delia, who kept shooting her looks, had been fed the hush-hush topic. She hadn't yet been able to explain the appearance of the banana nut muffin.

Still, Marshall's apparent lack of snooping did put Mary back in a daze, glazing over all her paperwork with thoughts of her dreams once more. The times she did jerk back into the real world, it was with a sense of sleepiness and loss. While she might be crashing through the night, it was becoming more evident that the sharpness of Jamie and his childhood was preventing her from getting real rest.

She heard her friend like he was down in a barrel; like he was shouting at her from the depths of a bowl. It took him three tries before she registered that he was right next to her.

"Mary?"

Polite patience.

"Mary?"

Tolerant, but with a hand on her broad shoulder.

"Mary?"

The touch did the trick, and she gazed up at him. She was seeing him, but not really seeing him all at once. He seemed to be a sort of spirit through the late afternoon sunshine being cast through the large window. Half his face was hidden in a shadow, and she could see his eyebrows wrinkling against his forehead.

"Yeah? What?" she murmured blankly.

Marshall did his best to toss aside the fact that Mary clearly hadn't been listening or paying any attention.

"I just had something I wanted to confer on with you – a situation I am pondering taking care of tomorrow," he continued, as though there was nothing odd going on. "I wanted to see if you cared to accompany me; get your feet wet in the old duck-and-cover habit."

A little voice in the back of Mary's head snapped that she had hardly been out of the field a long time; three days was nothing. But, when you considered the usual business of their witnesses, it was a little lengthier. She silenced the snark, however, and suddenly became interested; grateful Marshall had thought to include her.

"Yeah-yeah…" she nodded, making an effort to appear more alert than she felt. "What is it? What's going on?"

She rolled her chair around, the better to face him, but he was suddenly looking skeptical. Nobody needed some kind of head case going into a dangerous state. Marshall was plainly having second thoughts. He sat on the corner of her desk, resting a file folder in his lap.

"How did your appointment go today?" he asked curiously, bypassing her questions.

She ought to have known this would come up at some point. Well, he'd lasted two hours.

"Fine," she assured him. "Routine."

The phrase, 'Are you sure' was bursting to spill from his lips, but he reigned himself in.

"Did you receive any vital information?" he pressed delicately. "Anything that might be helpful for the future?"

Mary vowed that she was not going to be baited into this. If she could just learn to act normally about this whole thing, he wouldn't keep prodding her about her intentions for motherhood. It only she _felt_ normally; it would be so much easier.

"Not really," she lied. "Everything's fine. I was just thinking, is all…" she gestured indiscriminately at the heap on her desk, implying her zoned look when he'd come knocking.

There was nothing in Marshall's face that said he bought this excuse, but Mary wanted to urge him to get off the subject at once. Fortunately, he took that route before she could.

"Your shirt's all fuzzy…" he suddenly remarked out of nowhere. And, to Mary's astonishment, he reached out and plucked a few particularly large stray hairs off her navy top beneath her blazer. "Looks like you and Beatrix are getting on well."

"She's a terror," Mary half-lied. "I had to leave her shut up in the laundry room today so she'll get used to that litter box. She better not leave me presents in there."

"I cannot be fooled," Marshall shook his head pompously. "She's got you all wrapped up around her little paws already."

"What's going down tomorrow?" she nearly repeated loudly to shut him up. "Sounds like you need back-up."

Marshall hesitated visibly; Mary could almost see the hitch in shoulders and arms. He knew his friend was using any means possible to avoid talking about the baby. Nonetheless, he knew better than to push, especially for as much emotion as Mary had allowed to overflow in the past few days. After already having teased her about Beatrix, he grasped the segue and ran with it.

"Well, its Thomas Harrison…" he flipped his folder open and Mary craned her neck to get a good look. "He's been lassoed a few times since he came into the program for parking tickets, which as you are well aware would not be a big deal…"

"I remember," she chimed in at once. "It was where they found his car that concerned us. You said Abigail did a drug bust down there last month, right?"

"Correct," Marshall affirmed. "Considering Thomas' past with illegal substances, he doesn't need any temptations. According to my detective friend…"

Mary tried her damndest not to snort at the second mention of the Texan.

"There may be another deal going down in that neighborhood tomorrow. I thought I would surprise Thomas and see if he's consorting with the wrong crowd again."

Mary raised her eyebrows, "A charge of that degree would have him out of the program," she glanced up and down Marshall's gangly body. "Isn't that more my style? You're the one who is fond of second and third chances."

He cocked his head, but there was a certain bitterness in his eyes that said he was ready to hound this guy.

"Thomas and I have never exactly meshed as inspector and witness…"

"Well, duh," Mary growled. "He's a douche bag and rude as hell."

"Not my favorite charge," Marshall agreed with a glimmer of a smirk on his face at seeing Mary back to insulting people. "But, he copped a plea with D.C. and we got with stuck with him," he closed his folder and crossed his arms, fixing Mary with a calculating state. "So, what do you think? Are you up to being my escort down to Mesa Ridge, or too many memories on that one?"

Mary took pause at his mention of the location, and it was a moment before she realized where he was talking about.

"Mesa Ridge?" she stated dully, not putting two and two together right away.

Marshall helped her out, "Francesca…Lala…my dashing green scarf…"

Mary gaped as she reclined further back, suddenly hit over the head with the realization. She really was out of it. She'd been shot in Mesa Ridge. At the same time, she'd never really associated her bullet wound with the location; it was an event that could've happened anywhere; no bones about it.

"Right…" shaking her head to look articulate. "No, that's no big deal. The threat level's not exactly rampant, is it?"

She didn't know why she'd asked; she wasn't scared.

"No more or less than usual down there," Marshall supplied. "Abigail seems fairly confident there's going to be a trade with a few people who escaped in the last bust. It's whether or not Thomas is involved that gets us in the mix," he tapped the file for emphasis.

"Sounds good…" she answered. "What time do you want to go down there?"

"Early," he said. "Meet here about eight?"

"Copy that…" Mary replied, the corners of her mouth twitching with the familiarity of the phrase. "Although I don't know what kind of low-budget drug deal goes down at eight in the morning, but whatever."

She rolled her eyes and scooted back to her desk, seeing Marshall smile as well as he retreated. Getting back to her work, she reflected that this was probably a good thing. Although she couldn't predict how her attitude would fare tomorrow, it would surely help to get back in the swing of things. Get her mind off Jamie. The sooner, the better.

It appeared, however, that this was not to be. The minute the thought entered her mind, her Blackberry began to go off underneath her mountain of paperwork. Ruffling the pages, she unearthed the cell and saw an unknown number meeting her. The area code triggered something within, however, and something told her it was best not to ignore it.

How she wished she had.

"This is Mary."

"Hey, it's Mark!"

Immediately, she felt a stone drop straight into her stomach; heavy and profound. It caused her lunch to nearly fly back up her throat and she swallowed to avoid retching on her desk. The momentary happiness she'd felt from Marshall's offer vanished and she found herself gripping the edges of her desk with tight knuckles.

Why? Why him? Brandi had said she would put an end to it.

No earthly response came; none that made sense and Mary was forced to stagger, "What?"

Mark was relatively unabashed, and his laugh rang through the phone, like there was ten of him penetrating Mary's already mixed-up wits.

"It's Mark," he repeated jovially. "I just thought I'd call and see how you're doing – we haven't talked since I was in town."

There was a very good reason for that, Mary thought. Her breathing had become rather shallow, and she was glad Marshall had gone back to his side of the room, but still. She was losing it and things had barely even begun.

"Well, I'm…I'm at work…" she chattered, thinking her nerves were showing in every word. "I…I don't really have time to…"

"You've got a minute, haven't you?" Mark assumed, as though this were the easiest thing in the world. "Come on; I've got some news I wanted to tell you about."

Oh, Jesus. What news? Mary was definitely going to throw up now; her stomach was twisting like a washing machine on the spin cycle. Somehow, she thought whatever Mark's news was could not compare to the news she might've had to give him.

"Just…just a second…" she gave in, standing up from her chair and going to take refuge on the balcony once again.

She didn't need three pairs of ears pressing in on her when she was like this, but she had already attracted Marshall's attention to an extent. Her harassed nature was hard to miss, and he looked severely at her from his post.

"Are you okay?" he mouthed, using only his lips so Stan and Delia wouldn't catch it.

Mary shook her head, but also waved an irritable hand, trying to pass it off as nothing. Thinking her partner would have to understand this for now, she yanked on the door to the roof and saw herself out.

Trying to steady all her puffs of air, she leaned against the brick wall instead of going all the way to the edge – possibly to avoid hurtling herself over it – and pushed her bangs off her face. It was still windy and it created a lot of static in the phone. This would be a good distracter; it would show Mark how unavailable she really was.

"All right, so…" she sighed, not troubling to raise her voice over the breeze. "What's your news, Mark?"

She should've known he would dither around, "Well, wait a minute…" he was so upbeat it irritated Mary. "Tell me how you are first. What's been going on since I last saw you?"

She had no intention of standing for this, "Mark, I told you; I really don't have time for small talk," she reiterated. "Tell me what's going on. If it's not important, then you should really call back another time."

It wasn't as though she had any desire to talk to Mark _ever_ again. She wanted to put as much distance between the two of them as possible, at least until she put the baby in the rearview.

"I really just wanted to make that you were all right," he claimed innocently. "Since…"

There was barely a lapse, but Mary could've sworn hours had gone by while she held her breath.

"Since the last time I talked to Brandi, she said you were avoiding her."

Oh that, Mary thought. While the prospect didn't thrill her, at least his assumptions were easily refuted.

"Yeah well, I was busy; but that's over," she relayed quickly. "I just saw her last night," proud of being able to give the truth.

"She sounded great…" Mark continued, as though he had absolutely nowhere to be and with the infuriating air that Mary's crotchety demeanor had no effect on him. It never had. "…So excited about the wedding, and that guy Peter sure is a find…"

Mary knew there was a joke to be made about the way he'd described Peter, but now that he was talking, she wanted him to finish so she could get rid of him. As she'd predicted, it was hard to hear with the howls of the wind, not to mention the traffic below, but she didn't especially care.

"That's actually one of the reasons I called," they were getting near it now; Mary kept as calm as she could muster. "Brandi asked me to come to the wedding; I was thinking about taking some time off."

Mary almost blew her top, but pinched the bridge of her nose and shut her eyes, willing herself to keep things in check. Never mind the fact that her heart was pounding, and she felt likely to have a coronary any second. There was absolutely no telling what Mark might uncover by showing up in town, not with Jinx and Brandi in the know when it came to Jamie. She couldn't trust either of them to put the stories behind them.

"Why are you asking now?" she inquired neutrally to give herself more time to think. "The wedding's two months away."

"Well, I kind of figured you wouldn't mind if I came…"

Think again, Mary wanted to say.

"We co-exist pretty well," he decided. "But…I mean; my invite was for two. You fancy being my date?"

Mary thought she was going to fall to her knees with shock. The only thing that stopped her was remembering that Marshall was likely watching her through the window, and she didn't need him thinking she'd fainted. But, leave it to Mark to make her appear as shifty and guarded as possible. She did not know how to decline without revealing how tragically prickly such a thing would make her.

Mark was actually a pretty decent date when she cut him some slack, but this was asking too much. Things were different now, and she had the nasty feeling Mark did not expect them to go as friends, something she definitely would've had to make clear were she to agree in another world. She couldn't.

"Mark, I…" she would try to be nice. It was the only way to head him off, even though she was starting to sweat; she was so nervous. "I really don't think that's a good idea. Sorry, but…"

"What; you find another man to take my place already?" he whined, but Mary reminded herself he was only kidding. To his credit, he didn't beg, "Keep me on standby, won't you? I'd be only too lucky to turn up with the most unbelievable looking maid-of-honor in attendance."

It was that word – unbelievable – that recalled Mary much too closely to their escapades back in March. It was what she had dubbed his; 'one line' and it had landed her in this mess. Why had she let Abigail and Marshall get to her that night? Why couldn't she have been adult about their double date? Why'd she have to go to bed with Mark?

"Really Mark, I can't," she insisted. "I'm going to be running around helping Brandi anyway; I won't have time to hang on the arm of some guy," there, that was a plausible defense.

"All right, all right…" he dismissed her almost coyly.

"Was this your news?" Mary cut in almost too eagerly, desperate to be rid of him. "That you bought a plane ticket and need a broad to dance with?"

"No…" Mark chuckled, used to his ex-wife's acerbic nature. "No, my news is that I got a job!"

She did not know why he thought she'd care, but as long as it wasn't with Peter, she was happy.

"Yeah?" she murmured casually, tucking her hair behind her ears again. "Beyond the solar panels?"

"Yeah-yeah; when I was in Albuquerque for that air conditioning convention, I picked up some tricks of the trade," he explained, sounding rather proud. "I'm installing those now too; raking in a lot more dough."

"Fantastic…" Mary mused, and she knew Mark completely missed the sarcasm. "That's in Jersey, then?" she just had to make sure.

"Oh yeah, for now," he confirmed. "We'll see where the wind takes me, but yeah; Jersey is the spot at the moment. My mom's still here and everything."

'For now' was all Mary needed to know, and she was starting to think she was in the clear, so much so that she was swift in trying to wrap things up.

"Well, thanks for the update…" she said. "But, I've gotta get back to work; like I said, I'm really busy…"

Evidently, it wasn't going to be so easy, "Wait; one more thing."

She suppressed a large exhale that likely wouldn't have been distinguished from the wind and shut her eyes another time. The breeze was making her retinas burn and she suddenly felt thirsty. She just wanted to go back inside. She wanted to forget Mark. Surely she'd been though more than enough.

Wrong again.

"I'm gonna be in town again toward the end of the week…" he revealed with believable nonchalance. "There's a follow-up conference to the one I visited last time, and I actually have to go this time; rules for the new job…"

"What?" Mary sputtered, hardly daring to believe her ears.

She was so stupid. How could she have thought she'd shove him off completely?

"Yeah, I just wanted to give you a head's up," he concluded, obviously not noticing Mary's shock. "So, I'll see you soon, huh?"

No, 'huh!' Mary wanted to scream. No! She wanted to bellow it at him over and over; proclaim vehemently that he had ruined everything, even though she knew it wasn't true. How could he be coming here? What could she do? It was business; there was no way he'd be staying home…

"I'll let you get back to work though," he finally allowed before Mary could protest again. "I'll talk to you about the visit later. Have a good one, Mare…"

She just barely managed a 'goodbye' before hearing the click on her end, meaning Mark had gone.

Mary just stood there, thoroughly stunned, not able to index what had just happened. It had been thrown at her so quickly, and she knew Mark wasn't trying to drive her crazy, but he had always been the fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants type, as demonstrated by his 'where the wind takes me' comment. He just had no idea whatsoever of what he was about to find; Mary was nearly as jittery as she might've been had she still been pregnant.

She didn't _have_ to tell him. She didn't. It was his business, yes, but times had changed. As the wind swirled relentlessly around her, Mary knew that no matter how hard she tried to convince herself that she knew better. One way or the other, some time or another, Mark was going to find out she'd almost had his baby.

She did not know how she made it back inside; just that one moment she was on the balcony, and the next she was back indoors, free from the constraints of the draft. Her legs felt wobbly underneath her, and she was in as much of a daze as she'd been in when Marshall had tried to get her attention before.

At any rate, she certainly had _his_ attention now.

Mary stopped in front of the window above the air conditioning vent and set her phone aside, trying to allow the cool to seep into her moist shirt. Through her reflection in the glass, she was white as a ghost and scared-looking. When Marshall appeared at her side again, he couldn't help but point this out.

"Hey…" he ventured serenely. "Is everything all right? Who was on the phone?"

Mary didn't look at him, transfixed by her own image in the glass; a face staring back at her that didn't even look like her own.

"Mark."

She expected Marshall to subdue her, to act as if this was a bump in the road, but nothing earth-shattering. He often took matters such as these with a grain of salt; no need to get worked up as Mary would. That was why they operated so well together. When she was off-her-rocker, he was placid and resolutely calm.

This time, however, he surprised her. She heard him exhale on her right.

"Oh, my."

Mary could see from her long fingers resting upon the ledge below the window that she was trembling. It shamed her, that she found Mark so frightening. He was a good person and a kind man, but even before Jamie, he'd made her edgy. He reminded her of a part of herself she'd long since wished to forget – an irresponsible, reckless part.

"He's coming back to town for a conference," she relayed flatly. "He wants to see me."

She could see Marshall's likeness now too, and the stubble on his chin appeared heightened, somehow. It made him look older; more weary.

She could both sense and see him nod, "That's a tough blow," he murmured. "And not at all foreseeable, I would presume. But, you know, you can think about how you'd like to handle things and proceed from there. It's no one's decision but yours."

He was always so quick to try and mend all the broken patches; he wanted to give her life a makeover, and Mary almost wanted to let him. It would be so much easier than the existence she was rooted in right now.

"I don't know what I'm going to do…" she made herself admit. Her voice sounded funny, like she hadn't swallowed all the way and there was something lodged in her throat. "I don't know how I can possibly keep it from him; he deserves to know…"

Even without referencing the child, both she and Marshall knew what they were talking about.

"Well, yes," her friend sanctioned. "Yes, he did deserve to know, but the circumstances are no longer the same. Take some time to digest everything first," he suggested. "Then, when you can think a little more clearly, you can figure out how to approach it."

Mary would not gander she would know how to talk to Mark today, tomorrow, or next year, but she was willing to believe Marshall meant what he said. This was one conversation he definitely couldn't have for her, as he'd done with Jinx. This was something she'd have to scrape together on her own.

"Marshall…" she whispered in thinking about this, in feeling so utterly alone. She put a single hand over her tired eyes, tingling and begging for a better night's sleep. It obscured her mirror image as well as her partner's. "What am I doing here? How did I screw everything up so badly?"

His tone was soft and supple on the other side of her fingers, "It's a chain reaction," he supplied philosophically. "It takes awhile for all the dominos to fall down, but when they do and the dust settles, you can start picking up the pieces."

Mary didn't think so. She didn't think she had it in her to rebuild, not when she'd just be readjusting to the same monotonous life she'd had for the past ten years. Despite her loathing of change, the expanse in front of her seemed very bleak the way it was.

"Are you sure you still want to go with me tomorrow?" Marshall asked while Mary transferred to rubbing her eyes in an attempt to get the dust out. "I would be more than happy to go it alone…"

"No…" Mary replied at once without even thinking about it; an automatic reflex. "No, I want to go…" Just then, her bandaged finger, the one she'd nearly severed on the cutting board, snagged as she was massaging her eyes and bent awkwardly. "Ow; shit…"

She winced and stopped, fully intending to blink her way back to clarity, when Marshall started reexamining his handiwork.

"How is this looking?" he wanted to know, although there was nothing to see with it so heavily taped. "Have you checked it since I wrapped it up?"

"It's healing…" Mary informed him, suddenly feeling a great tingling sensation with the way he so gently stroked her injured finger. It brought her feet back to the ground almost in an instant. "Still pretty gnarly, but it did stop bleeding."

"Okay, good…" Marshall seemed satisfied and released the hand, much to Mary's bewildered disappointment. "Just hang in there, partner," he advised. "I know it seems impossible right now, but you're strong; it'll get easier."

"Can it be easier now?" she inquired hopelessly, gazing up at him with large, droopy eyes. "I'm just so tired of…"

Tired of the aches. Tired of the misery. Tired of the longing. Tired of the confusion. Tired of the dreams.

Or was she? She found herself fantasizing more and more as the days passed of Jamie, fictitious as he might've been. She hated to think she was clinging to him, gripping against a child she was never going to have; a child she'd merely envisioned out of loss and desolation.

Marshall was waiting for her answer, and she finished rather lamely.

"I'm just…I'm just tired," blaming it on the sleep cycle. "And, I really didn't want to go back to the doctor. It sucked…"

Again, her voice took on that same quivering quality, like her windpipe wasn't working correctly. Even when she cleared her throat it made no difference, and flickering her lids didn't help either. She really should've recognized the symptoms by now to know what was coming.

"You seemed really tense when you got back," Marshall stated, dropping all pretense and locking in on her with his sweet, bright blue eyes. "Are you sure nothing happened while you were there?"

Mary wouldn't have defined it so much as a 'happening' as a fact; a fact she'd felt certain of, and yet didn't expect to have confirmed. While knowing Jamie was male certainly helped solidify that she had _some_ sort of matronly side, it also made the inexplicable defeat so much harder to bear. It made him seem so much more real.

Not wanting to do this at work, it took all she had to fib and shake her head, desperate though she was to tell her best friend.

And only a best friend would give her the final push, "Mary, come on," he advocated in a low, mysterious tone. "What did Doctor Reese say?"

She knew if she messed around much longer, Marshall would start to think something was really wrong, and she couldn't have that. Instead, she tried to get it over with as fast as she could.

"She told me he really was a boy."

The quickness of her speech did absolutely nothing to help contain the adrenaline; the rush of passion that overpowered her once again, but which was expelled as mist and water on her already hot cheeks. More than the sorrow and appointments and puzzlement, she was tired – _so_ tired – of crying.

"Damn it…" Mary hissed before Marshall had time to say anything, swiping furiously under her lids. "So, he's a boy; so what? That's what I thought anyway; I don't know why…"

She let out a cruel laugh, which mixed strangely with her dribbles of tears. And instead of hugging her wholly this time, Marshall just put an arm around her back and squeezed her opposite shoulder; a silent and more stoic gesture that he was there in his unwavering devotion.

"He's your son," Marshall declared nobly, without any sign of schmaltz; just pure fact. "He was your son; he'll always be your son. He can still be a part of you if that's what you need him to be."

Maybe so, Mary thought with one last shudder. But, how much a part of her could Jamie be before he took over her life completely?

XXX

**A/N: Oh, Mark. I know I have made my likeness of Mark very clear in my other stories, but you'll have to wait and see what I do with him here! In any case, he's stressing Mary out, which makes good drama. ;)**


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N: I'm now closer to 200 reviews than I am to 100 (still 30 away, but still totally mind-boggling!) Thank-you so much!**

XXX

Mary went home that night trying to feel energized about the prospect of going on a manhunt with Marshall the next day. It was a slice of the days of old. She should be looking forward to it. She would have a ready-made excuse to blast some poor sucker's kneecaps if they gave her good reason. Ordinarily when she was upset, this was the first action she wanted to engage in.

But anymore, Mary wasn't feeling so ordinary. Her decaying over all the 'what if's' with Jamie right at the forefront were making her more heartbroken by the day, instead of livid as was customary. A portion of this was caused by the idea of Jamie itself; the concept of a kid she could've had all her own that had now vanished. But another portion was brought on by what people would say if they knew the crackpot story she'd cooked up. Her life had never been more uncertain.

She was somewhat pleased, however, to come home and find that Beatrix had nearly mastered the use of the litter box. The laundry room was small, and so it was true she had few other places to relieve herself, but it was still a nice surprise. Only one small puddle dripped in front of the dryer, and considering how many times she must've gone that day, this was great success.

Boosted somewhat by the kitten's apparent brilliance, Mary allowed her to roam the top of the outside counter in the kitchen while she ate dinner. Having her walking around where people ate food probably wasn't very hygienic, but Mary wanted to keep an eye on her. Secretly, she was afraid she'd misplace her somewhere in the house because she was so tiny.

Crunching cereal out of a bowl, not the most traditional supper, Mary pondered while Beatrix sniffed around the granite, apparently fascinated.

"So…what'd you do all day?" she mused, slurping on her spoon in thought. "Not sharpen your claws on my couch, that's for sure."

Beatrix didn't raise her head, her enormous ears alert for any sign of more interesting sounds.

"Bet your day was a lot better than mine," she chattered darkly. "I'd kill for twenty-four hours of nothing but eat and sleep," she waggled her spoon this time, careful not to let it catch Beatrix's fur.

Still, no response from her miniature companion. She'd settled onto her haunches and began to pick at a spot in her front paw with her teeth.

"Hey you…" Mary nudged her in the side, which jolted her pale grey eyes onto her master, but she immediately went back to grooming. "Is that mop of hair really more interesting than me?" she wondered aloud. "I should start calling you Bean Brain instead," she sucked the spoon with a smirk. "It'd be better than Beatrix. I'm sure that doofus named you."

Beatrix herself blinked rather benignly, almost as though bored, and used her rough tongue to smooth her paws further. Although evidently uninterested in Mary's babble, at least she was quiet, which was more than the inspector could say for most people she spoke to.

"You don't want to go live with Marshall and _Abigail_ do you?" Mary went on snidely, taking care to trip up the detective's name with disdain. Glad nobody could hear her, "Nancy Drew would probably plaster pink bows in your hair and shove sweaters on when it gets cold," she scoffed. "No way."

As she'd reconciled the night before, the woman knew she was going to be caught with this cat for the sole reason that she didn't want her partner and his girlfriend sharing her. The thought of Abigail mooning and drooling over the animal as though it were a baby was enough to make her ill. No, Beatrix was better off here. So far, she hadn't been much trouble.

"Abigail is not exactly high on my list," she explained while she munched the cereal and failing to register that she was talking to a cat like some lunatic. "You think Marshall will ever figure out that she's all wrong for him?"

Mary hadn't been entirely sure she'd felt as such until the words spilled from her lips, but Beatrix sat there, perfectly unabashed and engrossed in her fur.

"She's _perky_ as hell, Bean Brain," Mary snapped as though her position had been challenged, trying the name on for size. "She's like an obnoxious caricature. She can't offer Marshall anything."

It was said with confidence, but she was surprised when Beatrix looked up at the conclusion, resting her chin on her paws. Although Mary hardly thought the kitten was intelligent, she seemed to be giving her new master a calculating look. Now that she was 'listening,' Mary couldn't stop herself from going on.

"Take my word for it," she stated, as though the matter were settled. "He deserves better. She's completely one-dimensional. She made him go to a _spa_, for Christ's sake," she even leaned in, like the animal might take a further interest if she could hear better. "I mean, Marshall's pretty feminine, but _I_ could've told her he wouldn't go to a spa."

Beatrix continued to stare with that appraising look, like this weren't near enough to convince her of the argument. Still, now that Mary was talking, she found it difficult to stop. She feared she was turning into some sort of mad cat-obsessed woman, talking to a being that couldn't talk back, but she was in deep enough as it was. Between Jamie and Mark and everything besides, talking to a cat was the least of her worries.

"Of course, I can't tell him any of this," she altered casually, swirling the milk in the bottom of her bowl looking for stray cereal she might've missed. "She laughs at all his jokes, swinging her hair and eating up all of that intellectual jargon he just can't keep from spewing." A depressing thought came to mind and she fixed her eyes on Beatrix again, "Not like me," she grumbled quietly.

At this, her kitten closed her eyes as though ready for a nap, but Mary kept right on going anyway.

"You think Marshall would like me better if I chewed gum and giggled?" she asked seriously. "I'm not much of a giggler, Bean Brain," she decided she liked the nickname, and couldn't wait to try it out in front of Marshall himself to see what he said.

In any case, Beatrix obviously didn't know her given name from a hole in the wall and relaxed still further onto her paws. In a moment of affection, Mary reached over and scratched her ears with her nail – a little harder than an owner might have typically done, but she made that purring sound again, which proclaimed her satisfied.

"You know, you're a little bit of a thing and I'm sure you can't pack a punch – not even with some unsuspecting bird," Mary meant to turn this into a compliment. "But, you're not so bad. It doesn't mean you're getting free reign of my living room or anything," she clarified. "Another couple of days in the laundry room is the only way I can make sure you aren't going to stain my carpets."

Beatrix's only response was a contented rumble, and Mary busied herself momentarily with stroking her fur, which was quite soft. The stripes on her coat were pretty, grey dashed across black like strokes left by a child's crayon.

Having finished her dinner of cereal, she stuck a finger in the sugary milk and suddenly decided to tempt the cat; rewards for her good behavior.

"Beatrix…" she whispered, using her given moniker this time. "Nose up here; I haven't got all day…"

Sniffing curiously, the little one finally batted her lids and scrutinized Mary's wet finger before ultimately deciding to take a lick. Her tongue was sandpapery against her flesh and she laughed against her will, feeling the tickle it left behind.

"Tastes good, huh?" she assumed. "We'll have to keep it between us; I'm sure Marshall would have plenty to say about my letting you snack on cereal milk."

Beatrix looked sorely disappointed when she finished her treat and stood up another time, arching her back and prowling around the bowl hoping for more.

"Hey greedy Gus; don't get used to this…"

Mary swept the bowl off the counter, fully intending to wash it out before taking Beatrix with her to the living room, but the kitten began to mew pitifully with the sight. Mary had been afraid of this; her spoiling was sure to ruin her. While she considered, the whimpers turned to loud meowing that broke her in an instant. The sound was so ear-splitting; Mary knew all her willpower was going to be snatched at a moment's notice.

"All right; all right…" she consented, sliding the bowl back on the counter. Beatrix dived and stuck her nose in the remains of the milk, lapping eagerly. "But, if you barf it all up you're going to be relegated to the yard, you hear?"

Whether she heard or understood was immaterial; they were certainly both up for debate, anyway. Beatrix slurped on the liquid almost as loudly as Mary usually did; apparently her day's basin of water wasn't satisfactory. With a smirk, the woman watched her make short work of the milk in record time, and just a few minutes later her cell phone rang.

She figured it was Marshall confirming their escapade the next day, but it was her mother's name that met her on the display, not her partner's. Although she did not especially want to talk to Jinx, she decided little harm could come from it, especially now that she and Brandi had 'made nice.' With discretion, she hit the talk button and put the phone to her ear.

"Hey mom…" Mary greeted her flippantly. "What's up?"

"Hi sweetheart…" Jinx sang somewhat tentatively, but also encouraged by the apparent casualness of Mary's mood. "How are you?"

'How do you think I am?' was the answer Mary wanted to give, but she told herself that Jinx didn't deserve the attitude. In any case, too much snark would lead to awkward questions, which might lead to Mark or Jamie.

She'd thought about those dreams enough for the day.

"As well as I ever am," she landed on, which didn't give Jinx much information, but she'd work to pry it out of her if she really wanted it. "Why do you ask?"

"Well…" her mother's voice took on a placating quality. "After Saturday night…"

"I'll save you the trouble, mom," she interrupted quickly. "Brandi was here last night; she managed to choke out an apology; so it's all done."

"Did she?" Jinx sounded relieved but also gratified in some way. "Well, I'm very glad. I had quite a few words with her yesterday telling her exactly what I thought of her behavior."

This was definitely said with an air of domination, Mary thought. Jinx was plainly puffing with pride about having stood up to Brandi, whom she normally tended to baby and coddle; used to all her days of inadequacy and feeling worthless. Mary wasn't sure what to say, but she had a pretty decent idea of what Jinx expected to hear.

"Well, thanks I guess," she cast off roughly. And then, figuring she could go the extra mile, "Whatever you said must've sunk in."

Mary knew if she could've seen the brunette, she would've been beaming; perhaps near tears with her accomplishment and ability to aide in a time of need. She might be expecting an award any minute now.

"She was being so unreasonable honey; I am thrilled she has come to her senses," she rattled off in a rush, wanting credit for her efforts. "You need your family right now."

The daughter tried not to jeer about this, but it wasn't easy. Jinx had been of some assistance, it was true, but despite not fuming anymore when it came to Brandi, she didn't have any aspirations to be around her. The only person she wanted anything to do with was Marshall; he was the only one tranquil enough to tame her; to treat her like a human instead of a time bomb or a project.

"If you say so," she finally said, which wasn't much better than the swallowed jeering.

Jinx took no note of the cynicism, "You went to the doctor today, didn't you darling?" she wanted to know now that they'd taken care of Brandi. "Did that go okay?"

Mary felt herself tense immediately, thinking of how Marshall had picked up on this the minute she'd walked through the door that afternoon. Jinx wasn't likely to have the same luck over the phone.

"Okay, yeah," she gulped, trying to keep from stumbling over her tongue. "Nothing…nothing derailing or anything."

That depended upon your point-of-view, Mary corrected herself internally. For some reason, this idea that Jamie had really been a boy was following her around; almost haunting her. Amazing, how she could be fine one minute, but one mention of anything connected to the miscarriage, and she closed right back in again.

"I wish I could've gone with you," Jinx suddenly spurted, something that definitely surprised Mary. "For moral support, but I had classes all morning…"

"That's really okay," the blonde shut that down at once, not even able to picture herself with her mother in the exam room; her anxiety in trying to do the right thing would've made her ten times more stressed. "I wasn't there very long, and there wasn't anything to see anyway."

She prayed, with every fiber in her body, that Jinx wouldn't snoop any further. It had been hard enough telling Marshall about Jamie, even if she hadn't mentioned the apparitions or the name. She didn't want to risk Jinx leading her that direction.

"But, I hate to think of you going through this all by yourself…" her mother fretted predictably. "You shouldn't have to be alone…"

"Mom, I have Marshall," Mary reminded her, eternally grateful with every day that passed that this was true. "A fleet isn't required."

"He went with you?" Jinx was suddenly curious.

"No," Mary stammered almost a little too quickly, startled by the thought. "No; he's got more important things to worry about than me."

Now she was contradicting herself. Jinx was really throwing her off; she'd get lost and ask even more questions. Mary really wanted to get rid of her. She was not at all on her game this evening.

"Don't say that, honey," was the painfully obvious pity remark she received. "Marshall _wants_ to be there for you. In fact, when I told him that you were worried about monopolizing his time, he said…"

The words burst from Mary's mouth before she could stop them, flabbergasted by what she'd just heard.

"You _what_?!" she exploded so loudly that Beatrix skidded on the slippery countertop and sprawled on all fours, like she'd taken a tumble on ice. "You _told_ him I think he's spending too much time with me?!"

"I didn't say it like that...!" Jinx fumbled inexpertly.

"_What_ were you thinking?" Mary shouted, noisier still so that her pet was on edge now, staring with wide eyes. "_Why_ would you say something like that to him?!"

Why this was setting her off so severely, she couldn't have said for sure, but all she knew was that if Marshall was being so generous out of mercy or pity, she could not go on. He was the raft she was clinging to; the only piece of sanity left in her very drab world. The fact that Jinx had made her sound so frail was infuriating.

"Mary sweetheart; let me finish…"

"He's been doing it because he feels sorry for me then!" she spoke right over her, knowing she was overreacting but unable to shut herself down. "Because you told him I'm some delicate flower that can't handle this on my own!"

Well, she couldn't, but she didn't need Jinx bringing it up.

"He doesn't think that!" Jinx insisted pleadingly. "He doesn't! Please, honey; don't be angry with me," she begged, sounding exactly like Brandi. "I was trying to help you. He's your friend; he loves you _so_ much, Mary…"

A very distinct lump formed in Mary's throat at hearing those words spoken aloud when it came to Marshall. She suddenly remembered that he had uttered them to her right before she'd fallen under before the surgery. He didn't say it often, knowing how Mary hated such open affection – at least she had during better days. Suddenly, however, she found herself wishing she could hear it again, and not from her mother.

"…You mean _so_ much to him," Jinx was still talking while Mary's mind traveled further and further away. "He knows you would do the same for him that he's doing for you."

Well, Marshall would never be behaving as foolishly as she was, Mary thought guiltily. He would be almost gallingly level-headed about whatever tragedy might befall him.

Jinx took advantage of Mary's silence, working to keep her from becoming even more agitated and to save her own skin.

"He knows you're a big girl," she declared, and Mary was glad she made it sound sardonic rather than syrupy. "He knows how well you do on your own – we all do. But, he also knows how nice it can be to have a shoulder to lean on. You understand that, don't you honey?"

Mary really did have a good answer, suddenly feeling as frightened as Beatrix, who would not sit back down and seemed to be eying the floor with trepidation, as though contemplating jumping down. Mary hoped she wouldn't. Although she'd heard cats were prone to landing on their feet, she couldn't help thinking Beatrix would crack a few bones. She was so small.

"He told you all this?" Mary finally bit back at her mother, still sounding harsh, but she quit yelling. "Did you two have a nice little gab fest while he disclosed the miscarriage?"

She might've hurt Jinx just a little, but she did her part in not showing it, "No, dear," she replied a little more stiffly. "If you want to know the truth, he said something about the friendship not being a one way street, which to me says he gets as much as he's giving," she concluded with a light air of supremacy.

Still, Mary was not happy. She was not happy Jinx had opened her big mouth, just like Brandi, and spilled her innermost thoughts to a man she was trying to hang onto at all costs. She agonized more and more lately about the state of her and Marshall's connection with Abigail in the picture. She'd also given him more than enough reason lately to want to be shot of her. He had to be sick of the way she kept bawling all over the place at the dumbest things.

"Well, he's wrong about that," she interjected, knowing Jinx was waiting for her to say something to this pronouncement. "I don't give him a damn thing. He's got Abigail for all his favors now."

She detested the note of jealousy and sourness in her own voice, almost as bad as she'd been when talking to Beatrix. Jinx picked up on this right away, which also didn't please her.

"Oh, Mary…" she breathed in sympathy, and she didn't debate nearly as long as she should have before advising the next bit of counsel. "Have you tried talking to him about this yourself? He'd be so disappointed if he thought you were thinking of yourself as…" she searched for the right word. "As…as second-best or something."

Wouldn't she be? Mary considered darkly. The more Abigail wormed her way in, the less of a fixture she was going to be. And in any case, why was everyone so eager to talk her up when she didn't deserve it? She'd spent far too many years thinking she was better than everyone else, including Marshall, and now that she was trying to be honest about her less-than-flattering character, her mother and partner wanted to build up her self-esteem?

It was sick, and she was now more perplexed than ever. On top of Jamie, she did not need this. Marshall and love and feelings and God knew what else.

"Mary?" Jinx called cautiously; apparently it had been awhile since her last query. "Sweetie, are you still there?"

The mentioned shook her head, as though trying to rid it of rocks and debris, but to no effect. She had so much on her plate, she couldn't begin to think, and she didn't even remember what Jinx had asked her.

"What?"

Fortuitously, her mother repeated herself, "You should discuss this with Marshall. I'm sure he doesn't want space from you…"

"All I'm sure of," Mary broke in, back on track now. "Is that Marshall is giving me way more than I've ever earned, and that's a promise."

She looked back to Beatrix, who had begun to settle down and lick her ruffled fur. This was only one of the reminders of how Marshall looked after her; of how he attempted to assemble her protective nature that had not been fulfilled by the child she'd never gotten.

Before Jinx could run over this too, she put an end to it, "I need to get to bed, mom. I have an assignment to go on in the morning."

She made a vow, then and there, to prove to Marshall she was the same old Mary. The Mary who didn't need his indulgence or pampering.

"Okay…" Jinx sighed resignedly. "Please try to get some sleep, angel. I love you."

Mary wanted to return the favor, to say the words that often came very inexpertly, but found that she wretchedly did not know how.

"Me too."

And without another phrase, she hung up, placing the cell back atop the counter with trembling hands.

Her mind was buzzing with all things Jamie, Mark, Abigail, and Marshall – but especially Marshall. He, aside from Jamie, had rapidly become her entire world; an obsession she couldn't let go of. She was running to him far more than she'd ever thought she would, and all to get away from the image of a baby she still yearned to hold in her vacant arms.

It was with this thought that she scooped up Beatrix and held her close, gently petting her fur and trying to calm her nerves. The cat was furry and nestled against Mary's chest, her little claws snagging the fabric of her shirt and leaving scuff marks on the skin below.

And Mary knew, as she stood there clutching a mewling kitten, she was so far beyond where she'd started before that fateful Thursday. She could hardly guarantee the pretense she was vowing to behold tomorrow in front of Marshall; she was too wrecked and too far astray to transform into her old self in the next twenty-four hours.

Or even ever again.

XXX

**A/N: My apologies for there being no Marshall in this one, but not to worry – he'll return! And it might seem a little slow at the moment, but fear not. Things are gonna pick up soon. ;)**


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N: I'm getting new reviewers now! You all are so unbelievably wonderful! I hope I keep living up to the good name you have given me! It might seem all dreamy to start with, but read to the end… ;)**

XXX

_He was stunning. Mary marveled at him in each second that ticked on. He was a sun-kissed beauty; perfectly wavy hair the color of honey that rested effortlessly over the head proclaiming his cherubic cheeks. His eyes were a luminous, shimmering blue; the exact cross between the turquoise of a summer swimming pool and the navy depths in the belly of the ocean. They could be a pair of crystalline sapphires for all Mary knew. Never had she seen eyes so blue._

_All of him seemed to radiate light; there was a heavenly glow surrounding his otherwise mortal form. To the naked eye, he was everyone's little boy. He was generous and even-tempered; sweet as candy with the merest hint of mischief in his gaze. In a sense, he belonged to absolutely everyone; universally adored. And yet, Mary took boundless joy in the fact that really he belonged to no one._

_No one but her._

_As she watched her Jamie, just a few months shy of six years old, mount his brand new, fire-engine red bicycle, she seemed to take in sights of the front lawn she'd never noticed before. For instance, there were thriving green patches of grass he could fall into on either side of the sidewalk, should the bike topple._

_But, Mary wasn't going to let that happen._

_There were driveways every ten feet or so, their cement hot and scorching, which would be hard and burn if Jamie sprawled to the ground._

_But, Mary wasn't going to let that happen._

_There were cars zooming up and down their otherwise quiet lane, their engines loud and menacing; the tires rugged and punishing. They could crush her Jamie; even kill him if he careened into the street._

_But, Mary wasn't going to let that happen. She was never, ever going to let harm come his way. He was her baby, and she his mother. She was a mother that knew how to keep her child safe._

"_Make sure your helmet is strapped; did it click?" she asked as she balanced the bike seat with her hand. Peering under the lip of the hood, she checked the buckle to make sure it was securely in place. "Tell me if it wobbles when you're riding, and I'll get you one that's tighter."_

"_I hate this helmet…" Jamie complained with a pronounced scowl. "I look like a nerd."_

"_You're a nerd that's gonna keep his brains in his head, you got it?" Mary informed him seriously, placing her free palm to the top and testing its security. "If I ever see you riding without the helmet, this bike's going in a shed with a deadbolt."_

_Most children would be frightened, at the very least perturbed by such a threat from their mother, but not her Jamie. He understood everything about Mary and complained only about the trivial matters in their shared existence._

"_You aren't going to lock it up…" he giggled, staring adoringly up at her with his enormous eyes. "Come on, mom," he sighed with disbelief._

"_You just watch me," she taunted, but she smiled this time too. "I'm serious bud; you need your helmet."_

"_I know, I know…" Jamie relented. "But, can I wear my baseball cap underneath it next time? It might look cooler."_

_Mary doubted this, but she wasn't one to argue._

"_Sure thing," she agreed. "Extra padding is good with me," she rapped hard on the plastic with her knuckles._

_At this, Jamie knew their discussion was closed and he rearranged his rear end on the seat, eyes fixed forward like he was about to drive in the next Nascar race. He even licked his lips, running his tongue over his teeth in deep concentration. Mary realized the moment was upon him; the moment to swallow her fears because her son had yet to master the use of a two-wheeler._

_And refused to ride with training wheels._

"_We'll just do a test run first, okay?" she offered, and her voice immediately turned gentler. She patted his back encouragingly, "The next driveway and back. Does that sound good?"_

_Jamie nodded, his head seemingly heavier underneath the fated helmet._

"_I'm not going to let go the first time," his mother promised. She meant it too; even if he asked her, "I'll hold on until you're ready to try on your own."_

_He stared pleadingly up at her, his skin a beautiful bronze from summer sunshine; his incredible wavy hair protruding beneath the helmet._

"_Can't I try by myself first?" he wanted to know. "It probably doesn't hurt that bad to fall…"_

_Mary's instinct was to scream, 'no!' at him, because the thought of him tumbling was too much to bear. Instead, she scaled it back and shook her head._

"_I want you to get a feel first," Mary said sensibly. "Then you can do it yourself."_

_Maybe._

"_But mom, all the really big kids ride by themselves…" he insisted, voice inching to a whine. "And, dad said he didn't care if I wanted to try myself…"_

_Well, dad was not mom, Mary thought with a hint of disdain. Why was the expression, 'father knows best?' It wasn't true it all. Mother knew best. Mary knew best._

"_All I want is one test run," she reminded him. "Once with me on the back and then I said I'd let you go, okay?"_

_Jamie sighed, clearly brooding over his lack-of-freedom, but he didn't put up too much of a fight. Mary basked in his apparent understanding; his sympathy with how she preferred to run the show. It was unreal in some ways. No matter how unhappy he might be about the circumstances, he never got mad._

"_You ready to kick off?" Mary asked when she saw him concede defeat. "Can you reach the kickstand or do you want me to do it?"_

"_I can do it…" her son declared, which shouldn't have surprised her._

_Awkwardly, he managed to work one foot off his pedal and swipe rather blindly at the instrument holding his bike to the ground. Mary waited and eventually he managed to swing it upward, leaving him wobbling free with only Mary's hand to anchor him._

"_Okay, now start pedaling…"_

_Without the tiniest hint of hesitation, Jamie set off, churning and pumping his little legs against the pedals. Mary guided him along as promised, whispering instructions in his ear all the while, as if mechanics would really help a five-year-old who needed only instincts to learn how to balance._

_He needed assistance learning how to turn around at the next driveway, but Mary was there to do it, shifting the bike back the direction they had come. Jamie's face was flushed his efforts, but it also seemed to be costing him a good deal more stamina to have Mary weighing him down. Evidently, his mother's requests now fell on deaf ears. He couldn't stop himself from begging for his independence._

"_Wait! Stop!" he demanded when they were five feet from the house. _

_Mary halted at once, "What?"_

_Again, the child blinked up at her; yearning for a chance to be a big boy and test the waters. He knew his angelic face could get him almost anything, but he often didn't need to resort to such measures. He was so well-behaved that diversionary tactics weren't needed._

"_Mom…please!" Jamie almost shrieked in anticipation. "Please let me get back to the house by myself! If I fall off, I won't cry; I promise…"_

_The show of emotion wasn't what Mary was worried about, "Bud, I don't care if you cry…" she informed him softly. "I just don't want you to get hurt."_

_Mary never considered the fact that her irrational fears might rub off on her son; that he in turn might become timid and afraid of trying new things. He certainly hadn't yet, but his mother's hand pulling him back from anything that crossed his path could leave him in the dark one day. _

_She wasn't even scared for him. She was scared for herself. Scared of what she would do without him._

_Jamie's eyes turned sad and inquisitive, "But…you really think I'll get hurt real bad?"_

_He sounded doubtful, unable to grasp this bike-riding-adventure as being as dangerous as his mother made it out to be._

_Mary hastened to answer, "No, but…"_

"_I mean, why do I have to wear the helmet if you're just gonna hold the back?"_

_Good point, Mary thought against her will._

"_And, dad said he once crashed going down a hill on his bike, and he's okay…"_

_Dad, again. Dad, who let him try everything._

"_I won't go real fast!" another selling point, and likely considering he did not even know how to balance. "I'll go slow! I'll be; I'll be…"_

_He stammered his way into silence in his prickly excitement, trouble with finding the right word, but Mary knew what he meant. With a sigh, she supplied it for him._

"_You'll be careful?"_

_Jamie grinned broadly, "Yeah-yeah-yeah! I'll be careful! I really will! I'll be super careful! Please? Can't I, mama?"_

_How she loved to hear him say, 'mama.' It was so much more infantile than 'mom,' which he had adopted only recently. She could hear it spilling from his mouth as one of his very first words in that sweet baby's babble she mourned when she thought of the kindergartener he was about to become. It gave her that distinct feeling that she hoarded in her most insecure moments that he was hers – all hers. Hers for the taking and hers for the keeping; hers to hug and hold and nurture and love. Hers to catch when he fell._

"_All I've done is practice!" Jamie was still bleating on. "I bet I can do it now!"_

_Mary exhaled, suddenly feeling the warmth of the summer breeze, hearing the birds chirp pleasantly in the greenery above. At the moment, there were no cars to be heard; no reckless motorists to maul her son. She wanted to let him do it, and tried to trust him as well as herself to allow the hand to slip away._

"_Okay…" she finally murmured. "I'll stand down at the drive and wait for you."_

_Five feet was nothing, she told herself. Nothing at all._

"_You're going to have to put one foot on the ground first and then lift it to the pedal when you're ready to start, all right?" she instructed. "It's tricky…"_

"_I can do it!" he repeated enthusiastically. "Go mom – go!"_

_And, to prove he was ready, he slipped his right foot to the cement, standing lopsided while he waited for Mary to resume her position before takeoff. Her legs never seemed to move slower; they dragged her back to her own driveway; to stand in wait for the determined Jamie to come careening her direction._

_She despised herself for thinking he couldn't do it. He'd had such a hard time getting into rhythm that she'd pulled way back on letting him venture alone. She had yet to allow him to have a spill, always seizing the back before he could hit the ground. Now, she would too far away to do so. If he was going to crash, he was going to crash._

_Claiming her stake in front of the house, she looked down to Jamie and he suddenly seemed miles away; a speck in the distance. She knew this was her own distorted frame of reference, but even so. She couldn't see how he'd possibly make it._

"_All right…!" she called nervously, tone echoing in the wide open sky above. "I'm here! You go when you're ready!"_

_Jamie needed no further encouragement and set to work at once. Admittedly, it did take him a minute to swing himself back on board, but he eventually figured out that trying to pedal with one leg while simultaneously mounting with the other was the only way he was going to get a good push-off. _

"_That's good…" Mary told him coaxingly. "Now you need to keep pedaling…"_

_He wouldn't. It appeared the woman's panic had taken its toll after all. He refused to allow the wheels to spin more than inch, flinging his feet at the ground every time he sat teetering free atop the bike. He was grasping the handlebars so tightly his little knuckles were turning white. He could obviously feel the sway the contraption elicited before he rode and couldn't bring himself to pedal on._

"_Jamie, pump your legs…" Mary said quietly. "You know how; just like when I'm holding on…"_

"_It's gonna fall over…" he moaned miserably, obviously having expected something better. "I thought I'd get to ride some and then it would tip over after a minute…" he tried to explain. "But, I can't get on without it falling…"_

_It was disappointment and a hint of frustration that lingered in his voice as he tried again. He'd at least mastered the art of getting on without it toppling, but would go no further._

"_Well here, let me just get you started…" Mary suggested, and she stood from her crouched position to join, but Jamie balked immediately._

"_No!" he shouted angrily. "No; I want to do it myself!"_

_Flummoxed, Mary stopped and found the twinkling baby blue eyes of her little boy were now hard with aggravation, as though a different, much older individual were starting back at her. She didn't want that to plague her, longing for her well-mannered child to come back, and so abided the request._

"_Go further away!" he didn't demand; he begged. "Go all the way to that sidewalk!" the one past the far end of the drive. "I need more room!"_

_As Mary turned and did as he said, the front door of the house opened, and a man stepped out. Before she could register his presence or his identity, Jamie called out to him, distinguishing both._

"_Dad!" he bellowed. "Dad, mom's letting me try myself! Don't help me!"_

_But, before dad could say a word either for or against this proposition, Mary suddenly came to an understanding; a blinding, staggering understanding that nearly bowled her over where she stood._

_The man walking toward her was Marshall. It was Marshall exactly. He had the same dark hair, the same lanky body, the same long jeans and cowboy boots; the same piercing blue eyes. It had been Marshall all along. It had been Marshall in the hospital, Marshall in the bedroom, when Jamie had learned to walk and build block towers and speak her name and ride his bike._

_The realization was no longer startling; it was comforting. It was as though it had been so all along, and Mary suddenly thought nothing of it any further._

"_Don't help me, okay?" Jamie shouted again._

"_No arguments from me, good sir," he declared. "I want to see you give it a whirl."_

_He strode across the drive and over to Mary, perfectly calm and astonishingly clear. He'd been a hazy mist before now and all of a sudden he was alive with color. He cast her an all-too-significant smirk from where she was perched and swung his arm around her shoulders._

"_Letting him stretch his wings; this is admirable…"_

"_He can't do it," she cut him off sharply. "He'll fall."_

"_Mary, calm down," Marshall soothed serenely. "If he falls; he falls. He'll be okay." And then, "I caution you on being too overprotective."_

_Mary wanted to ask what he knew. How could he possibly tell her to watch herself in that fashion? There was no such thing as 'overprotective.' She was a mother; a mother guarded her children at all costs. There was nothing she wouldn't do to keep Jamie from being impaired in any way. Couldn't he see that?_

"_He needs me…" she voiced at once. "He…"_

"_Wait-wait; hang on…" Marshall broke in before she could finish. "He's going; watch…"_

_Resisting the urge to put her hands over her eyes, Mary did watch as Jamie heaved himself back on the bike and began a slow and steady progression across the pavement. Evidently, two parents did what one couldn't. Although he still wouldn't give way completely, he allowed himself a few more spins of the wheels before feeling himself begin to falter and stop._

"_That's it…" Marshall cajoled temperately. "Nice and slow; take your time…"_

_Boosted by his dad's comment that fastest was not always best, Jamie began again and this time, the result was both thrilling and horrifying all at once. He pooled all his energy into not holding back; into giving it his all to reach his mother and father that he, almost accidentally it seemed, started to balance. The bike still rocked precariously, weaving this way and that, but it was progress._

_Marshall saw triumph and hollered out, "Jamie, you've got it! Keep pedaling, boss!"_

_Mary, however, saw potential for disaster and hissed in Marshall's ear, "He's going to tip over; he's going to hit the cement…"_

_Annoyance wasn't what she expected from dad, "Mary, don't; you'll scare him…" he murmured before calling out again, "That's excellent, chief! Be careful now; you don't want to…"_

_Jamie, invigorated by his victory, had proved Mary's suspicions correct and couldn't hold his equilibrium anymore. He listed much too far to the left, and before either Mary or Marshall could reach him, he'd come down very ungracefully onto the driveway._

_Mary cried just before the crash, "Jamie…!"_

_He collided with the ground and was caught under a tangle of spinning spokes and his own legs, which came uncomfortably free of the pedals with the bike pinning him to the driveway._

_Marshall tried to head Mary off, dashing over with a completely even demeanor._

"_Whoa, pal…" he almost laughed, though the woman saw absolutely nothing funny. "Are you all right?"_

_He gingerly lifted the bike off its owner to see a crumpled Jamie underneath. He looked a little shaken by the fall, but otherwise rather breathless from his brief spell of success. _

"_How did I do?" he wanted to know, voice trembling slightly. "Was I really riding?"_

"_That was the best I've seen…" Marshall proclaimed, but he could hardly block Mary forever._

_She nearly shoved him aside an effort to see how mangled her son really was. The skin had broken on one of his knees, and there was a dent in his face from where the handlebar had caught him coming down. Otherwise, he seemed unhurt, but the buds for catastrophe were too great. She didn't want him back on that bike; teetering and tottering this way and that…_

"_Come here…" she ordered immediately. "Come here; I want to see your scrape…"_

_Ignoring the exasperated looks from Marshall, she hoisted Jamie off the ground and into her arms. He automatically wound his legs around her waist and clutched at her neck. Businesslike, she removed the helmet, which was a silent indication that the riding lesson was done for the day. Casting it to the ground with a loud clunk, she smoothed his sweaty hair and then pulled back, the better to examine his knee from the side._

"_There's blood…" he commented a little apprehensively._

"_Oh, it's a bee sting," Marshall waved this aside._

_Speaking of bees, Mary could hear one buzzing obnoxiously nearby. Buzz-buzz-buzz._

"_Mama, do I need a band-aid?" Jamie asked innocently._

"_I want to clean it out first; make sure there's no dirt sticking to it…"_

_Buzz-buzz-buzz. Damn bees._

"_It's fine, chief; no big deal…" Marshall interjected._

_Mary clung to her boy, thinking foolishly of all the horrible things that could've happened with him out cruising on his own. She knew how insane it was, to fear for her son's life just because he was learning to ride a bike._

_And it was this last fact, apparently, that she had completely neglected to acknowledge._

"_Well, did you see me ride, mom?" Jamie asked cautiously. "Dad said I was really good…"_

_Buzz-buzz-buzz. She wanted to get him inside away from these bees, so she answered as kindly as she knew how._

"_You did a great job," she swore. "I'm really proud of you."_

_Buzz-buzz-buzz._

Buzz.

Buzz.

Buzz.

Mary jerked awake, her head thrashing off her pillows, and snapped her eyes open to find that cloud cover had once again prevented her return to consciousness. The sun was gone and pending storms had returned, but she could also tell by the lightness filtering in her window that it was daytime. She'd spent an entire night concocting a vision of her five-year-old son riding his bike, where she was depicted as his wildly shielding caretaker.

Out of breath and jarred, Mary didn't realize immediately what she was hearing.

Buzz-buzz-buzz.

It wasn't bees. It was her cell phone, vibrating to beat the band on her night table. Too disoriented to gather this at first, she whipped around inside her sheets, trying to find her way to the sound in her confusion, unable to completely block the images from the dream. Eventually, she found it lighting up and closed her fingers around it. Her hands were shaking so badly she could barely hold the device, but she managed to turn it around and speak.

"H-hello?"

She was gasping so heavily it was hard to get the words out, but whoever was on the other end clearly overlooked this.

"Where are you?! Are you okay?!"

They too were harried and frantic, and Mary managed to discern through shutting her eyes hard and reopening them who was there.

"Stan?"

No time to clarify, "Mary, what the hell happened? Marshall said you were supposed to meet him to check on Thomas Harrison this morning; where have you been?!"

Stan was a mingled combination of angry and frazzled, mostly frazzled, but Mary didn't spare a moment to digest that. It was all rushing back quicker than she was ready for it. The glorious pictures of Jamie were suddenly replaced at warp speed with Marshall asking her, the day before, to be his escort into Mesa Ridge. Gaping and glancing around, she finally caught the clock and felt her heart stop in her chest.

It was almost nine o'clock. She was supposed to have been at the office at eight. She'd overslept.

"Oh, Jesus…" she breathed, intensely mortified by her blunder. "Stan; I-I-I'm so sorry; my alarm…"

She hadn't even remembered to set it. Her excuse wasn't even true.

"…I'm coming right now; can Marshall wait any longer or does he want me to just meet him in Mesa Ridge?"

She was already scrambling out of bed and to her closet before her boss dropped the second bomb.

"He left already; he said he thought you must've had something to take care of and that he'd fill you in after the fact but Chaffee just called; there was a struggle in the bust…"

Mary actually tripped and fell over, her feet catching a box that had stumbled out of her closet when she'd opened the door. She managed to throw out a hand to steady herself on the open door, thinking she must be moments away from hyperventilating.

"Struggle?" she repeated dumbly. "What kind of struggle?"

"Weapons, handcuffs; that kind of struggle."

Stan was not trying to be so painfully blunt, Mary knew. He was trying to be businesslike, but she suddenly felt as though her soul had been drowned in ice. Marshall had gone out there by himself, without his partner to watch his back. There'd been a struggle. What if he was hurt?

Suddenly, the same feelings that had overwhelmed her in the dream she'd just been startled from returned in full measure. Jamie, a healthy little boy who was bound to get numerous bumps and bruises, had fallen off his bike and she'd been worried about him dying. Marshall, a highly intelligent US Marshal with a swift clothesline and a gun, had just been ambushed by drug dealers. The fear was the same.

She could not lose Marshall.

"What happened to Marshall?" Mary blurted out at once. "Is he okay?"

"I don't know the details; I'm headed down myself," Stan blundered on. And then, "Abigail said he was knifed."

"_Knifed_?" Mary screeched so loudly her throat hurt. "Is he okay?" the hysteria took over and all rational thought flew out of her head. "_Is he okay?!_"

"I'm sure Abigail would have said if he wasn't!" Stan declared, but this had no effect on Mary, who was now reduced to tears as she tried to unearth a pair of jeans in her disorder. "You slow down; calm down and meet me there!" he ordered, stern but fair. "You copy?"

Not even bothering to feel shame for her weakness, Mary trickled a very pathetic, "Yes…" before hanging up and flinging the phone to her bed.

Now she was really in trouble, Mary thought as she dressed in disarray. She couldn't even function. She couldn't even get out of bed at the right time. Jamie had consumed her every thought process, and now Marshall was paying the price.

Internally, she begged his forgiveness. She begged for him to understand, to understand she hadn't meant for him to get hurt.

Just as she hadn't meant for Jamie to get hurt.

XXX

**A/N: I had at least one reviewer who guessed that this might go south! But, one never knows how south! But, oh Mary-Mary…she keeps piling that guilt on.**


	25. Chapter 25

**A/N: So sorry I had to keep you dangling with a little cliffhanger! But, I can only hope that this reads well and seems plausible. Mary's beginning to spin… ;)**

XXX

Mary was lucky she knew the path to Mesa Ridge almost by heart, and equally lucky she was a US Marshal and could go fifteen miles over the speed limit, wending her car this way and that. She was in a total and inconsolable panic; jerking the steering wheel around in hopes that she could get to the site before she flung the car off the road and landed herself in a ditch.

Horrible pictures, the likes of which she'd never allowed to enter her mind before, were hurling themselves to the forefront of her brain. Marshall, lying on the ground with blood oozing from his chest and covered in dirt. She suspected this one formed due to a burning recollection of when he'd been shot. Marshall, crumpled up and twitching, clasping crimson rags to various injuries on his body. Marshall shouting for help; Marshall needing her; Marshall relying on a partner who hadn't been there when a dagger had pierced his flesh…

Mary drove faster.

She was quivering from head to foot, her mind a whirling vortex of illustrations she couldn't pack away. She whimpered and made no effort to get a grip as she saw her best friend in various states, but also Jamie, whose not-so-dreamlike presence had made her late for this ordeal in the first place. She attempted, fruitfully, to remember if she had forgotten anything else in her rush to get out of the house. Beatrix had still been locked in the laundry room when she'd emerged from her bedroom, but in her teeming commiseration, she'd let her out to roam for the day before leaving. She was sure she'd regret it that night.

When Mary hit dirt roads, she knew she was getting close, and it wouldn't have mattered if she'd misplaced the location anyway. She could hear the sirens now, and spotted their lights splashing red and blue over the dust near a cluster of houses similar the ones she'd been stationed in with Francesca two years before.

At the far end of the cul-de-sac, she saw two ambulances and three police cars; thankfully, no fire trucks. Yellow caution tape was swung around a large expanse, and she could hear radios blaring information. Several thugs were handcuffed and were being questioned before cops shoved them into squad cars. Preceding the yellow tape, Mary recognized Marshall's SUV parked a good distance from all the action and nearby, Stan's pick-up truck. Despite how fast she'd driven, her boss had beaten her there.

Jamming her foot on the brake, she parked her own car across the road from theirs, knowing she would have to run a good distance to get to the activity. She didn't especially care; in fact, it would help her to feel more alive, more alert to sprint. She somehow thought, absurdly, that she would be quicker without the weight of the car. In any case, she also knew stationing her vehicle too close a crime scene was invitation for being kicked out.

And so, Mary leapt from the driver's seat, slammed the door, and ran flat-out, bolting blindly toward the sirens like her life depended on it. With each stride, her face stinging and wet, she reminded herself that her life did depend on it. Everything about her existence hinged on Marshall. He _was_ her life.

The caution tape posed no threat to her; she barely stopped to lift it aside and ducked underneath it, to angry shouts from several of the policemen.

"Ma'am! Ma'am; get back! This is a crime scene!"

They were about to close in on her, though she paid them no mind, and suddenly she heard a voice in the distance she recognized.

"Stand down; it's okay! She's his partner…"

From what Mary could glean on the outer edges of her eyes, this didn't subdue the cops, but Stan's professional tone went another step.

"Inspector Mann – that's his partner."

This, she supposed, had them backing off, but she only had eyes for one now. There was a searing pain in her gut from where she had run so fast, and she petered to a jog as one of the ambulances came into view. It was parked sideways, blocking several of the houses, its back cabin spilling the inhabitants toward the mouth of the cul-de-sac. But, sitting on the edge, legs dangling, perfectly upright actually talking was Marshall.

Mary came to a very ungraceful halt, panting, winded and tearstained, much to the apparent surprise of her best friend, who was not alone. Abigail was kneeling behind him, scratching the top of his head with her nails.

"Mary…" he commented, a note of carelessness in his tone. "Hey, partner. What's going on?"

She couldn't answer; she couldn't breathe. Her huffing sounded loud, even among all the other activity. She was assessing Marshall's state of being. A large, thick piece of cloth that used to be white was now stained a deep red; Marshall was pressing it tight against the inside of his arm between his wrist and his elbow. Feeling bile in her throat at the sight, she took in the rest of his injuries. He held himself a little stiffly over his middle, but otherwise his forearm seemed to be his only wound.

"What…what happened?" she finally gasped. "I…I'm…" she'd been about to apologize, but the words got lost somewhere on the way out.

Marshall recognized her dilemma, "Oh, the situation just escalated unexpectedly. All quiet now…" he even smiled, giving the briefest glance to his arm to see how it was doing. "The fire's out."

"But…but…" Mary's visions of a dying Marshall weren't equating to the one sitting and speaking right in front of her. "Abigail – Stan said you were knifed."

And it was Abigail who answered, not Marshall, "Took one for the team, he did," she declared in a chipper voice, alerting Mary to the fact that she was there. "It was just a fast swipe; not enough hands on deck…"

Mary's heart sank. Her sense of culpability increased tenfold. She was supposed to have been here. She was supposed to be his second set of hands.

"Only a flesh wound," Marshall joked, starting to pick up on Mary's anxious features, which hadn't diminished. "I'll need some heavy duty stitches, but I made it out fairly unscathed, and we apprehended Thomas too," he raised his eyebrows significantly at Mary, but she couldn't garner anything from the gesture.

She was so relieved he was all right; so glad it wasn't anything worse, but it was manifesting exactly the opposite of the manner one would expect. All she could think about was what could've gone wrong with her asleep in her bed. She could've cost him his life. He couldn't trust her at all anymore; he had Abigail for reliability.

"I just…I…" she was babbling without even thinking, without considering what else might expel. "I…I thought…" to say the words would be too theatrical, but she was covering that with all her blubbering. "I…Stan said you were knifed…"

Repetition and then the tears; they poured from her eyes; a stream she couldn't stem. This wasn't sadness; this was fright. She'd been so afraid and couldn't shake off the sensation. She covered her mouth with both her hands to try and muffle the cries, but it was to little avail. Abigail was staring at her like she was sick, lost for words, and she was freaking Marshall out, who had more than enough to be going on with.

"Mary, I…" his eyes skirted left to right, bewildered by the fact that she was crying so openly without a care. "I'm fine; why don't you…?"

In a brief flash, she saw him extend his good arm, but he pulled at back at once. At first, she was worried he found her somehow revolting, but no; he was being considerate.

"Ab, go get an update from Detective Peterson, would you please?" he asked in an undertone. "I'll make sure they let you know before the ambulance takes off; we can ride over together."

Abigail took the hint, Mary still flowing freely, and she had to watch him kiss his cheek as she climbed over the hatch and onto the street. The inspector felt faint at such a display.

"For sure, sugar bug…" she crooned. "My hero."

Marshall smiled tiredly for her benefit and Abigail clip-clopped away, giving Mary an offhand look as she went. The man, however, was clearly glad that they were now alone and beckoned his partner again, this time leaving his working arm suspended until she came over.

"Mary, come here…" he whispered in a timbre that was both surprised and tender, slightly higher than his normal voice. "Come here; come sit down…"

This was a decent offer, as Mary felt her legs might give way any moment. She slid into the open ambulance and next to Marshall while he glimpsed his injury another time. Even without the use of both arms, he guided her in next to him, hugging her as well as he could, so that their heads knocked together. Tears fell with a plop into her lap and ran, creating roads all over her shirt.

"Mary, what's wrong?" he pleaded sweetly, nudging his wrist against her back. "I'm so sorry; I didn't mean to frighten you, but I'm really fine…" he insisted. "I was actually starting to get concerned when you didn't show up. Did something keep you?"

There was not the merest hint of accusation in his voice, and this made Mary want to cry harder. Why did he put up with her? How on earth could she keep going on like this?

"No…" she said, still constricted. "I feel terrible; I overslept…"

"Oh, well…" Marshall didn't even contemplate and patted her knee, working his arm out from behind her back. "That's no problem; that happens…"

"It _is_ a problem," she had to keep herself from truly wailing. "You could've really gotten hurt; I promised I'd come…"

"Mary, it was just an accident…"

That word 'accident' again.

"You don't know that you could've stopped that lowlife whipping out his knife; it happened too fast."

"But, you're my partner; it's my job to look after you…" Mary reminded him soulfully. "If I'd been here, I…"

Marshall didn't let her finish, "Well, I really shouldn't have asked you to come in the first place," he lamented. "You tried to tell me last week that you weren't up to the big guns, and I could tell how tired you were yesterday…"

"Don't blame yourself!" Mary hollered almost hysterically, unable to believe he could make her sound so perfect when she was such a madcap. "This is _my_ fault – all my fault…!"

"Mary…" Marshall pressed urgently, definitely distressed now; the tears were flying and she was red in the face, clearly completely off-the-handle with fear. "You have got to slow down and think; look at yourself…" he leaned even closer to her so that he was whispering in her ear. "You trying to be guilty for everything has come up way too often since the baby…"

Now she knew why he'd spoken in such dulcet, low tones; there was no telling when Abigail would be back, and he certainly didn't want to make her more upset than she already was. His breath was very warm in her ear.

"You don't have the power to spin the earth on its axis, partner," he asserted, still craning his neck while she sniffled. "The sun doesn't rise and set with your every action, although you are doing a damn good job trying to convince me otherwise," he added spiritedly.

Mary nodded, knowing he was right, but also completely unsure of how to persuade herself otherwise. Her strong and unyielding grip on control was fading and it was fading fast. Instead of being able to simply roll with the punches, she'd taken the universe's chaos as a personal insult and started to lose her mind.

Marshall, however, seemed glad she was nodding and shifted further away, eyes on his girlfriend to make sure she wasn't on her way over.

"Try to breathe…" he encouraged, giving her thigh a quick squeeze before pressing the cloth back into his wound to staunch the bleeding. "Take a deep breath. I promise I'm going to be okay. I've been through way worse than this…" he jerked his head at the spot where he'd been stabbed.

"Did it hurt?" Mary found herself wondering childishly, sounding six years old. She blinked and several stray tears dripped from her lashes while she exhaled. "Was there someone there to help you…?"

"Well, it was hardly pleasant," Marshall admitted, aloof and shrugging. "But, I am rather proud of my reflexes; I was able to duck under and seize the knife before the blade penetrated too far…"

He saw Mary shudder at his description and he quickly decided to change the subject.

"Let's talk about something else," he offered, still with an awfully cheerful smile for a man that had just had his arm sliced open. "I'm going to have to get to the hospital once they're through with the questioning, and then I probably won't see you for a bit."

Mary couldn't fathom what else there was to talk about, but she knew Marshall was trying to keep things light and impartial. At the very least, he wanted her to quit worrying about him. She still found it completely unbelievable that _he_ was the one who'd had his life threatened, and _he_ was still the one consoling _her_.

She shook her head, watching the storm clouds swirl above so she wouldn't have to eye Marshall's blood-soaked rag. She didn't especially want to discuss the weather, and fortunately her friend found another topic.

"Hey…!" he suddenly barked excitedly, startling Mary into taking her waterlogged gaze off the sky. "How's Beatrix? How did she do in the laundry room all day?"

Beatrix seemed like she was in a different world right now; one to which Mary had belonged to yesterday, but one she couldn't seem to mold into today. Nonetheless, mention of such a simple being was enough to have her longing for that kind of ease. Thoroughly stunning Marshall, she was sure, she grabbed hold of that first emotion and let him know what she was feeling.

"She did great…" she revealed murkily, vowing that she would not shed more tears over a cat. "You were right; she is sweet," suddenly, Mary wanted to hold her and had to work much harder to keep the wetness on the inside. "Thank-you for giving her to me."

If Marshall was at all flabbergasted, he didn't show it. He smiled widely and Mary tried to do the same to show she was grateful and not weepy.

"Of course," he compressed her shoulder with his palm, relieved to see the grin. "I'm so glad you're enjoying her. I'm happy I could help."

Still, Mary concentrated her energies on breathing, as Marshall had beseeched her. It seemed a much harder task than usual. She felt like she was watching herself from afar; a different woman than she usually was. A woman who was no longer humiliated by her own sorrow; the dread she'd felt about Marshall being injured had far eclipsed that. One day soon though, she knew she'd wake up and want to escape this episode and forget she had ever let it occur.

"That sounds better…" Marshall observed listening to her air. "That's it…"

With an internal leap of amazement, Mary realized he sounded as he had in her dream, cajoling Jamie to ride his bike. Quickly, she pushed this away, knowing it would prompt a second flow of tears.

"Just a little scare…" he jostled her shoulders as well as he was able with only one arm, and Mary distinctly saw Abigail approaching. "Nothing to lose sleep over," referencing the deep cut in his skin.

Vaguely, his partner wondered if he had used this analogy on purpose; if he had guessed her sleep was so disturbed that it was causing her to miss her – non-existent – alarm. She didn't have a chance to dwell on it now; she'd shown quite enough to Abigail for one day.

"Well, Inspector Mann…" the brunette drawled cheekily with a playful smirk, practically prancing her way into the ambulance. "They say we're ready to take off to get you all sewed up."

She swooped down, kneeling beside Marshall, and laid another kiss on his stubbly cheeks. Her boyfriend smiled, but was much more sheepish than he had just displayed in front of Mary. As she slipped aside so Abigail could get through, she noticed him go rather pink.

"Sounds like that's my cue," he responded. "I wonder if my badge will get me through the ER faster. What do you think, Mare?" he posed, obviously not wanting her to feel left out in front of Abigail.

However, she just didn't have the vigor to play along, "Maybe. I hope so."

Abigail seemed to sense she had perhaps been a little short with Mary before, especially when she'd been so distraught, and shook off the persona of ignoring her. Instead, she flashed her a beaming smile that Mary certainly couldn't have been wearing had Marshall been _her_ boyfriend and she'd seen him knifed.

"Sorry about the lack of details before you got down here, Mary," she chirped breezily. "It was a little hectic, but our Marshall's lookin' good, isn't he?"

Amid her remorse, she suddenly felt ill watching Abigail hang her arms all over Marshall, swooping kisses from cheek-to-cheek. And she wanted to shout suddenly, 'He is not _our_ Marshall! He's _my_ Marshall! I had him first!' But, there was no telling how ridiculous that sounded after the scene she'd just caused, so she buttoned up and kept it simple.

"I'm sure he took care of everyone," she voiced blankly. "He…he's good at that," she finished in a stutter.

She took some satisfaction in seeing she'd moved Marshall unexpectedly with the compliment, and it was his turn to vocalize appreciation.

"Thank-you, Mary."

Wanting to apologize again, but knowing she couldn't in front of Abigail, Mary knew it was time for her to leave. The paramedics had returned and were climbing into the front seat; a stray clambered in with Marshall and Abigail to escort them to the hospital. Remembering the detective's words from earlier, she knew they would be going in as a pair.

"I should get going…" she said very quietly, almost indistinguishable over the noise all around them. She looked right at Marshall, "You'll…let me know…if it's something serious with your arm?" she tried to make it sound like a question, but really she wanted to force him to give her specifics.

Luckily, he ascertained her performance of forced-calm and nodded in kind, "I'm sure sutures are all I need, but I definitely will," he swore. "I'll give you a call when they release me anyway, okay?"

Mary swallowed hard, "Yeah, thanks."

At the onset of Marshall mentioning he'd phone her, Mary distinctly saw Abigail take up his working hand and hold it in her own, topping it off with about the tenth kiss – this one on his lips. Mary was bewildered to think the Texan thought she needed to create this spectacle; to show the inspector to whom Marshall belonged. It was a blatant show of ownership, but the blonde was so drained she didn't even care.

And with a half-hearted wave that Marshall returned, she set off across the dirt, back through the yellow caution tape, and on to her car, still parked in its strange swerve on the side of the road.

But, once she climbed inside, she made no move to drive anywhere. Keys still in her cup holder, she folded her arms over the steering wheel and began to cry in earnest; so forcefully her whole body shook with the tremors. It felt good to let it out where no one would hear or bother her. She was far enough from the crime scene that officials would pay no attention.

She had never felt worse in her entire life. Feeling responsible for losing Jamie was one thing, but Marshall? How on earth could she have been so careless; so absentminded? She'd never remembered doing anything like this before; never recalled any tragedy that had taken hold of her so strongly. She was putting others at risk because of her mania for a baby that was long gone.

Mary did not know how long she sat there, crying herself into silence. She hardly considered it a meltdown; just a release of strain that she would not impart on anyone else. That was how she analyzed it before she heard a rapping noise on her window.

Looking up, uncombed hair tumbling around her face, she saw Stan looking sternly through the glass of her dirty window. He was visibly unhappy, but with her or with the situation, she didn't know. She could be certain, however, that he'd seen her lose it with Marshall and now on her own. She wasn't going to be able to keep it from him, and she managed to spill herself back into the outdoors, patches of red blazing in her cheeks.

Leaning against her car, she waited for Stan to say something, but it definitely took him a moment. Mary was in no hurry.

"You all right?" he finally inquired in a decidedly neutral voice that didn't entirely mask a bigger issue at stake.

Though she knew he'd never buy it, Mary nodded anyway, tucking her hair behind her ears, which probably wasn't the best idea. It put Stan in plain view of her sticky face.

"I'm…" now was the time to beg forgiveness. "I'm sorry Stan; I'm so sorry…"

It made her voice fog up and she let out a quaking sigh of regret in her effort to stay in one piece.

"I…I'm…I blew it for everyone…" she went on when her boss didn't say anything, simply stared. "Marshall got hurt…the police involved…they could've breached security…" the more she spoke, the shoddier it sounded. "I-I-I'm…I'll take care of all the paperwork back at the office if you want…"

It was the only thing Mary could put forward that seemed to go anywhere toward patching this up, and it was weak at best. And still, Stan wouldn't respond. It was making her more and more uneasy. Could this have cost her-her job?

"Tell me what you really think of what I did…" she implored miserably, her eyes limp with tiredness. "Please; I know you've gotta be pissed…"

She needed something concrete, even if it was something she wouldn't like. She chased anything that put her feet back on the ground, and Stan berating her might trick her into thinking she could get her old life back.

Stan eventually bore the request, "The truth, inspector?"

Mary nodded as boldly as she could, willing both herself and Stan to believe it. Then, she braced herself.

"The whole truth is that yes, I am frustrated with you…" he began steadily. "You know we can't afford inspectors who oversleep or forget things…" somehow, Mary didn't think he was really mad, and this kept her from sobbing once more. "But, I also know you just made a mistake. We all make mistakes; there's no sense in my holding it against you – or _you_ holding it against you," he added almost threateningly.

Mary gulped, clinging to Stan's rationale, but apparently he wasn't done.

"I'm not angry with you," he insisted, proving her theory. "What I am, Mary, is worried," his voice definitely dropped to something much more somber. "In light of everything that's happened, you seem to have gone around the bend a little bit…"

His employee knew he did not mean this as an insult, but it still stung her ego severely. She'd been awful at concealing herself lately.

"I am really starting to get concerned, inspector…" he said softly, and Mary forced herself to focus on the shiny diamond pattern in his maroon tie to avoid looking at him. "This isn't like you, and I really don't want to diminish this…this thing with the baby…" now he fumbled. "And I know it's only been a few days; it's not fair to you…"

Mary tried to remember to breathe again.

"But, I think we need to talk about a few things," he finally reached his point. "I don't want to make you nervous; it's nothing that should upset you…" he clarified quickly. "Just some things we should discuss."

She sensed it was her turn to speak, though she had no idea what to say.

"Here?" she whispered lamely, afraid he was going to make her spew all her secrets into the open air. "Now?"

Stan shook his head slowly, "Come back to the office; we can chat there."

Mary nodded, knowing she had no other choice, "Okay."

"Okay…" Stan repeated, and he cuffed her shoulder paternally, dropping his professional chief demeanor for a moment. "Are you okay to drive? You want me to call your mom or anybody?"

"No…" she refuted, both of them knowing full well she couldn't have Jinx drop her off in front of the Sunshine Building. "I'll be fine. I'll see you in a bit."

Stan accepted this and strolled off to his truck, leaving Mary in his wake. She didn't have a clue what he wanted to talk about and she was going to try to do as he said and not be jumpy, but she knew she had come to a crossroads. There was a decision to be made.

She couldn't go on endangering other lives. Not now. Not anymore.

XXX

**A/N: I've brought my dear Mary pretty far from her original self – losing it (partially,) in front of Abigail, oversleeping; answering to Stan…hopefully it all seems believable in light of the circumstances. At the same time, I don't want it to seem like I think everyone who suffers a miscarriage automatically goes into an inconsolable tailspin. I'm sure everyone reacts differently – as I said at the start of the tale, my intent is never to offend! Anyway, enough of my chatter. Thank-you so much for the reviews! They're so kind!**


	26. Chapter 26

**A/N: 200 reviews exactly! I imagine this gets old after awhile, but I cannot thank you enough. I am truly flattered that there are so many of you taking the time out to read and comment on this. I'm hoping a fellow inspector will echo your sentiments about Abigail in this installment… ;) **

XXX

As it was with the accident site, Stan got back to the Sunshine Building before Mary did. She took care to drive slower this time; her awareness seemed more heightened as she toiled the streets. She noticed all the things she could've crashed into on the way, just as she had in her dream with Jamie and his bike. She was aghast at how attached she had become to him and how much she missed him, when in reality there was nothing to miss.

When Mary swiped her badge and saw herself through the glass double doors on the roof, it was to find an almost empty floor. This shouldn't have surprised her; Stan was in his office and Marshall at the hospital. She was met, therefore, by Delia, and it was clear from her first words that Stan had neglected to fill her in.

"Mary-Mary…!" she dashed over, heels clicking, hands fluttering in many directions. She looked concerned, but not overly frenzied; her brown eyes large and round. "Were you able to see Marshall? Will he be all right?"

Mary nodded, once first and then several more times. She was fulfilled with having been able to calm down a little bit, but she was still very shaky. She imagined Delia could see the pink in her cheeks; mingling oddly with her otherwise pale complexion.

"He'll be fine…" she relayed, and saying it out loud somehow helped her to believe it. "He just got sliced – wrist-to-elbow. He needs stitches, but otherwise…" she shrugged and tapered off.

"Oh, good," Delia breathed at once. "Well, he's so quick on his feet; I was sure he'd take care of himself, but you never know, do you?"

"No…" Mary found herself agreeing, nothing better to say. "No, you don't. I guess he had Abigail there with him too, so he wasn't alone…since…since…" she stammered uncertainly. "Since…I didn't get there in time."

For some reason, she wanted Delia to know she was aware of her blunder, but she did not know why she'd worked Abigail into the mix. To her surprise, Delia gave a snort of disapproval that did not entirely mesh with her usually sunny disposition. Mary was thrown, thinking her fellow inspector was annoyed with her tardiness to the scene, but that wasn't it at all.

"Wh-what?" Mary asked nervously.

"Abigail," Delia replied shortly. "That girl called over here after Marshall was stabbed, asking if we could put a rush on getting him to the hospital…"

"Yeah…"

"Well, of course I wanted to put it through – it's Marshall, after all…"

"Uh-huh…" Mary still didn't know where this was going.

"But, then she said she wanted to have him in the emergency room before you could get to the site…" the woman frowned further. "She was trying to blame you for him being out there by himself..."

"She did?" Mary asked weakly, having thought that Abigail had looked bitter when she'd been hanging all over Marshall. "Well, I…"

"But, I told her…!" Delia interrupted with a shake of her head. "I said she could cut out that act right now; sitting there acting like you'd done it on purpose…" Mary just stood there and gawked at Delia's apparent anger where this was concerned. "I told her if she really knew Marshall, she would've known that he's too smart to go somewhere dangerous without his partner. He'd have stayed here and waited if he didn't think he could handle it."

She might as well have added, 'So there' but she didn't. Mary mouthed soundlessly for a moment before finding her voice.

"You…you said that?" she wanted to clarify. "You said that to Abigail? Was she mad?"

"Oh, she'll get over it," Delia waved this aside of little importance. "I hope she didn't give you a hard time down in Mesa Ridge."

"Well…" Mary hunched her shoulders, still goggling at the berating Delia had given the detective. "I mean, sort of, but not really. I guess she'd made her peace with it by the time I got there." And then, hardly daring to believe she was sticking up for Abigail, "I-I'm sure she was just worried about Marshall and decided to take it out on me – it's not like I didn't deserve it…"

"Now, I wouldn't go there," Delia advised, and her deep eyes suddenly turned warmer. "If she knew what you'd been going through, she'd shut her mouth fast."

At this, Mary almost stopped breathing, but quickly regained consciousness as the puzzle pieces slid into place. The mystery of the banana nut muffin was explained. And now she came to think of it, Delia had made other, much smaller gestures to aide Mary during the troubling days. She'd never pried; never altered her demeanor. Indeed, she'd mostly left Mary alone, which she'd probably thought was the best gift she could've given her.

"I…I'm…" Mary mumbled timidly, not wanting to pin it all down by name. "I wasn't sure if you knew about that."

She nodded solemnly, "I didn't want to gossip," the tiniest hint of a smile, knowing this was hard for her. "But Stan mentioned it."

"Well, yeah…" Mary put up her hands in response to this. "I'm…I haven't been the easiest person to be around lately."

"Marshall doesn't seem to mind," Delia reminded her. "And neither do I. Don't let anyone – especially Abigail – upset you."

Not wanting to touch on the subject of Abigail, because she wasn't likely to stop if she got going, Mary shrugged, "Well, I was worried about Marshall, but I'm better now…" this wasn't really true, not when she still had to talk to Stan. "I just need to make some decisions; get my head on straight."

Delia visibly didn't know what this meant, and Mary wasn't going to tell her. Although she was slightly pleased to be able to have an ally as far as Abigail was concerned, she had more important matters on her mind now. She'd been as polite as she could when she was in such a tizzy, and she knew Stan was waiting.

"I actually need to speak to Stan, so…" she gestured at his office window. "Thanks for holding down the fort here – not just today," she clarified; suddenly realizing kindness wasn't such a bad thing to express.

"You go ahead," Delia sanctioned, stepping aside as though to lead the way. "And, I am happy to do what I can. I'm pretty skilled at putting out fires," she even winked.

Mary tried to smile, although shabbily, and made her way to her original destination, while Delia went about her business as well and returned to her work. She stood in the doorway of Stan's office where he was bent over his desk writing what looked like a report of the morning's events. At first, she wasn't sure he'd heard her, but then he capped his pen with a flourish and looked up.

"Good, you made it back…" he voiced. And with a wave of his hand, "Why don't you close the door?"

Mary had known he'd ask for this, but it still made her stomach churn. The idea of a locked hatch made her think it was as serious as Stan had indicated it might be. While he'd urged her not to be nervous, she couldn't help it now. She wasn't sure she could say what she knew had to come out of her mouth.

There was a moment's silence while she sat down, crossing her legs, uncrossing them, and then recrossing them. Stan tapped his pen against the desk, clearly hesitant of how to begin.

"Mary, I'm going to try to be straight with you here…" he started in a deep voice. "I know you're not big on a lot of hem-and-haw."

Not usually, Mary thought, but somehow she thought she was going to want to delay both what she planned to say and whatever Stan's intentions were. She nodded, however, giving him permission to continue.

"I feel bad for you, kiddo…"

His inspector swallowed, willing herself firecly not to start crying again.

"I really do. This thing with the baby has obviously had quite an effect on you…"

Now she looked at the floor, blinking at her dirty jeans she'd dragged out of her closet.

"And, who am I to judge? If you need to grieve, you need to grieve…"

She was always so good at shying away from anything that made her uncomfortable. Why had she had such a hard time with this kid? She'd failed to hide it from Marshall, Stan, Delia; the list went on and on.

"But, after this morning…"

Mary knew this was her chance to head him off; her chance to say the piece she had rehearsed in the car on the way over. It was the only thing to be done. She was going to save her chief the trouble.

"Stan," she interrupted sharply, and she tipped her chin upward to appear more assertive.

He paused and inclined his head, "Hmm?"

Mary didn't know what was making her do this. Perhaps she was trying to be more noble than she felt. Perhaps she wanted to look like she still knew how to use her brain; that she understood right from wrong. In actuality, if she _did_ know how to use her brain, she'd have known she couldn't make a choice like this in a fifteen minute drive. But, her mind wasn't really her own anymore.

Regrets or not; happiness or unhappiness; this had to be the ethical thing to do.

"I think maybe I should just quit."

The air around her and Stan went very still. Her phrase hung like a cloud of dense smoke in the space between them. Mary felt as though she could hear it spoken back to her on an echo, but her boss didn't allow it to linger for long.

"What?" he narrowed his dark eyes incredulously. "You're not serious. Why in the world would you quit? Because of this morning?"

"I…Stan…I'm a liability…" Mary claimed, trying to hang onto her thread and not let him throw her. "You can't have me…"

He held up a hand to silence her, "You hold up," he demanded, and he sounded deathly serious now. "If you think I'm going to let you quit, you have another thing coming. You can't…" he shook his head in disbelief. "You _can't_ think I was going to fire you." And before Mary could defend herself, "I told you not to worry – that you shouldn't be nervous!"

She knew that. She'd known better. But still, this had felt like the right thing to say, even if she didn't mean it deep down. Right now, she was still caught in trying to repair her gargantuan mistake and didn't back down.

"I put Marshall in danger…" Mary articulated very deliberately, striking each word with force so that her point could not be missed. "That is not doing my job…"

Stan could see she was being so purposeful intentionally to ward off becoming a mess, and was keen to deny her assumptions.

"Mary, you know – _you know_ – that he could just as easily have planned to go down there on his own; he didn't even want to ask you to come along…"

"But, he did ask me!" she exploded, hitting her hand hard on the table so that it left a stinging sensation behind. It also aggravated her still-bandaged index finger, but she ignored the throb. "He asked me because he needed me…!"

"Mary, of course he needs you…" Stan insisted, and she could see by his eyes he wanted her to cool it. "Let's-let's just slow down here; let's back up; I started this all wrong…"

His gentle, would-be-soothing hand floating in her face did nothing to erase her temper. The guilt was starting to suffocate her. She'd been unable to run from her indiscretion where Jamie was concerned, but Marshall on top of it was overpowering. Pretty soon she wouldn't be able to breathe properly.

"What if something had happened to him?!" she was so loud she was sure Delia could hear her; her voice echoed around the walls and her face went redder than ever. "You think I can live with that on my head?! I already killed my own child…!"

Stan had heard all he needed to, "Mary stop – stop it! Enough!"

He smacked the table harder than she had, which did shut her up. She had been almost out of her seat, inches from Stan's face, pleading with him to understand. Reluctantly, she slumped back down and crossed her arms, eyes tingling with a sharp burn. She knew they were bloodshot; she'd caught a glimpse in her rearview mirror on the way over.

Stan, however, wasn't focused on her eyes. He was difficult to read; a cross between furious and frustrated. He didn't know what to do any better than Mary did, but he was sure she had been spoiling for an argument. She had to have known he wouldn't have accepted her resignation.

After a moment of thick silence between them, he worked up his courage again.

"I don't want to hear you talking like that," he pointed a threatening finger, loud but no longer booming. "You cannot function with this notion that the world starts and stops with everything that happens to you…"

It was exactly what Marshall had said, but Mary bypassed that, "That is why I shouldn't be working!" she tried again, although had no idea why. "Who the hell knows who I'll put in jeopardy next time?"

Stan chose not to rise this time, determined to keep things more even, "I don't understand…" he wrinkled his brow, folding his arms over his desk and shuffling closer to his inspector. "You can scream yourself hoarse Mary, but surely you don't _want_ to quit. I can't envision this town without you running it…" he reminded Mary vaguely of an old western with such a line. "Hell, I only sleep soundly in my bed most nights knowing you're out there defending the greater southwest."

Against her will, Mary felt her longing for a spat begin to abate. Stan might be exaggerating, but his line still made her feel a little better.

"Whatever," was all she could grumble. "You still shouldn't have me anywhere near guns these days," an even lower objection proceeded the first.

Stan sighed, "Well, that does bring us to a sketchy point…" she sensed whatever he'd wanted to talk to her about before she'd blown up was coming to a climax once more. "Mary…"

She didn't want to hear it. She cast her eyes back on the ground as she had before.

Stan was too smart for her evasiveness, "Mary, look at me."

The monster within told her to holler that he couldn't make her, but she'd already bitten his head off, and she knew she was out of options. She could not run from this forever, but still; she was pretty sure she knew what Stan was about to say now that they'd gotten the issue of firings out of the way.

Slowly, she raised her eyes, but kept her chin on her chest so she could look away at any time.

"I'm not gonna lie to you inspector, part of what you said was right…" Mary wanted to ask which part, but he continued before she could. "_I_ don't consider you a liability at all. You work yourself out of jams all the time," he was careful to sound kind. "But, D.C. and the higher-ups might see it differently."

Mary abruptly felt like a child who had been sent to the principal's office for a scolding, despite how genuine Stan was being. She took advantage of the placement of her eyes and concentrated on the streaks of wood in Stan's desk.

"I wish I didn't have to cover my ass here Mary, and this isn't about this morning…"

She severely doubted that, but didn't say so.

"This is about the last few days, and I would be more than happy to give you time to work this out…"

But.

"But, I think its best…"

She hated that phrase.

"Maybe to help you get back on your feet…"

He could sugarcoat it all he wanted.

"I think maybe you should talk to Shelley Finkel," the beam came crashing down, Mary's worst suspicions confirmed; she'd rather have quit than deal with this. "She might be able to help you cope with what's happened…"

Somehow, Mary found her voice; found it in her to stop Stan and his opinions about her mind-set. It was pitiful; she'd shown him she was far from capable of doing her job in the manner it needed to be done. But still, she had to stick up for herself.

"Marshall's been helping me," she whispered meekly, flashing her jade eyes upward for a fraction of a second.

Stan softened at her account, "I know he has," he sounded like he believed it too. "And, far be it from me to think he's not doing the job with flying colors," yet another clarification. "But, Finkel will look better on paper for the head-honchos."

Mary's stomach began to contract; it gave a leap and then shrunk back inward. She'd had to deal with Shelley only once when it came to her own problems, and then another time with a witness. She was nice enough, and she seemed to understand Mary's beats, but to her this was conceding defeat. It was admitting she could do nothing on her own anymore.

"What if I won't talk to her?" she inquired, attempting to sound steely but coming off just as submissive as before.

"Well…" Stan swallowed slowly. "Then I think some time off would be appropriate, and we both know that isn't what you really want, Mary."

She was enraged he had seen through her, yet again. Stan knew her almost as well as Marshall; he knew her supposed act of heroism in quitting was nothing more than an attempt to evaporate her own regret. She chewed on her lip, nothing more to say to her boss. She'd been beaten.

"I'm sorry about this, inspector…" Stan interjected lamely for something to break the tension. "I just want you to feel better, and if someone were to come to call, it's important to look like we're doing everything we can so that you can do your job."

On any other individual, this statement would sound insulting. Stan would have sounded like he was only imparting Shelley's wisdom to save his own position, not Mary's. But, deep in her heart Mary knew that wasn't what he wanted. He knew she would be equally embarrassed if someone more in charge than he were to knock on the door and see her weeping all over her desk. Then she really would be in danger of termination. The Marshal Service didn't have the patience for unstable inspectors.

"Please don't think I'm not sympathetic…" he blundered onward, obviously becoming anxious by Mary's lack-of-comment. "I really am, and I know you haven't had a lot of time – just a few days. I-I-I just…people from D.C., they don't really…"

"I know," Mary finally spoke to close him down, to stop him feeling so awkward. "Fine. You have to do what you have to do. It's not your fault I'm a walking, ticking time bomb."

Tired of working to get her to believe her feelings were perfectly valid, Stan took her acceptance at face value and grabbed a pen to begin writing again.

"I'll put a call in and see if Finkel can get here tomorrow."

Mary could only nod, now beginning to wonder what on earth she was going to say to this woman. She was sure to chew her up and spit her out where her helter-skelter emotions were concerned.

"Can I go now?" she gulped, brushing her hair off her face in trying to get rid of how ill-at-ease she felt.

Stan wasn't willing to keep her any longer; "Sure," he nodded. "Again, I'm…"

"I know," Mary interrupted yet again, standing up and sliding her chair out with trembling legs. "You're sorry. I get it," she did not sound disbelieving; she sounded flat; there wasn't anything to fight now.

Stan also recognized he had run his limit and offered only one more word of advice.

"If you would like to pack up early this afternoon and go visit Marshall, you go ahead," it sounded more like a command than a recommendation. "I'm sure he'll be home after lunch."

Mary knew anyone worth their salt would not accept, not after they had made such a careless error and spent their own day out of the office not so long ago. But, she was simply glad she didn't have to ask, and detoured around those feelings of insufficiency at once.

"I might," she claimed. "If it's okay with Abigail," she suddenly remembered Delia's accusations about her attitude over the phone.

To her puzzlement, Stan seemed to share the same sentiment.

"Don't worry about her," he threw off casually. "I mean, since I'm cutting you some slack I suppose I should do the same for her, but she was not as professional as she could've been down in Mesa Ridge," he revealed. "But, she isn't my concern. Just, don't let her stand in your way."

Mary half-expected him to add, 'You had him first,' just as she had considered, but he concluded on that note and went back to his paperwork.

And Mary knew as she left Stan's office that, despite everyone's protests that she not allow Abigail to hinder things with Marshall, she knew this was exactly what was going to happen if they were to be believed. As if she needed another reason to agonize about losing her best friend.

XXX

**A/N: I reiterate from my last chapter that I don't want Mary's scenario to seem like a cliché, or even typical. Like I said, I am sure everyone who has to go through this situation handles it differently. I also want to point out that, in my version of events, Mary's had a little under a week to cope. I realize that is certainly not enough time to be 'over it' if one ever does get 'over it.' But, so this story doesn't go on for a year, I felt the need to speed things up a bit. Anyway, hopefully you'll think Shelley is a good addition!**


	27. Chapter 27

**A/N: I am overwhelmed by the love, and amused by your hate of Abigail (although I could have expected it!) I may have been satisfied with the series finale and I may like Mark, which puts me in my own camp a lot when it comes to this show, but Abigail is something we can all agree on – never liked her either! But don't forget, just because I was satisfied with the finale doesn't mean I don't like to try something different than what the writers did. ;)**

XXX

Despite her misgivings about Abigail, Mary didn't have to debate for long about whether to go and see Marshall after work. He called around two o'clock saying it had been slow at the hospital, but that he was headed home with a grand total of thirty-three stitches on the underside of his arm. He spoke about it proudly – Mary suspected so she wouldn't worry – but she still felt uncharacteristically finicky at the thought. She had-had far more when she'd taken a bullet in the same neighborhood.

Before stopping by, she ran home quickly to check on Beatrix, already groaning about having left her out all day. She didn't have time to comb the house for messes, but she couldn't smell anything unwelcome. For peace of mind, she tossed her back in the laundry room until she could get back for dinner.

When Mary arrived at Marshall's house, it looked empty, and she suddenly backtracked, wondering if he'd gone to Abigail's instead. She went to the door anyway, thinking the absence of cars was conspicuous, but when she knocked, Marshall answered just as she had hoped.

To her own astonishment, she smiled more earnestly than she had in days at the sight of him, "Hi," she extended a hand, but she wasn't sure what she was going to do with it, and instead pulled back.

"Hey…" Marshall smiled too and ushered her inside. "I wasn't sure if you'd make it; I imagine the work is piling up."

"Well…" Mary hedged as she followed him to his living room. "Stan said I could leave it for the day," she didn't elaborate on why.

"He and Delia are getting quite a work-out," Marshall remarked. "Good for them, right?" he winked over his shoulder.

Mary was slightly liberated, knowing he didn't say what he said to make her feel badly, but to tease; to perhaps entice her to tease him back. She could only grin as she took in the living room, which definitely bore the signs that Marshall was laid up.

Marshall's house was considerably smaller than hers, as he never had to worry about relatives dumping everything on his doorstep. The kitchen was right through the front door, with a counter spanning one wall beneath a window. As it was skinnier than Mary's vast eatery, there was no island. The living room was just beyond, where Marshall had crammed in a large squashy couch and a cozy-looking armchair. A few fancy paintings adorned the walls, and Mary knew both the master and guest bedroom lay off to the left and down the hall from the living room.

Right now, the cavernous sofa was heaped with blankets and pillows larger than the decorative ones; there was even a tall glass of Sprite on the coffee table, a straw poking from within.

"Abigail's handiwork…" Marshall gestured blandly at the set-up. "I tried to explain that a full-fledged nursemaid routine was hardly necessary – I am not ill, merely wounded. But, you know how women are…" he grinned jadedly. "Or, you know how _most_ women are."

Mary tried not to stiffen at the mention of the brunette, "Abigail did this?" she questioned uncertainly while Marshall made himself comfortable on the couch. "Is she here?" she glanced behind her, as though expecting to see the woman stride out of a back bedroom.

"Not at the moment…" Marshall replied with a groan as he relaxed against the pillows on the far end of the sofa, bringing his arm to rest across his middle and trying to avoid brushing the padding. "She went out to pick up some gauze and tape for when my bandage needs to be changed."

He watched Mary still standing, gazing fearfully around, like she still wasn't convinced Abigail wasn't going to appear. She felt oddly demonstrative amongst Marshall's sparkling clean surfaces, dust-free-floor, and inviting furniture. He must've noticed she was skittish, because he worked even harder to put her at ease.

"Take a seat," he indicated the coffee table, which was closest, rather than the chair that was across the room beside the television. "I could use the company."

Mary did as he said; trying to seem normal, but her mind was preoccupied with a great many things – Shelley Finkel, Jamie, and her partner's ripped flesh. She decided that the last item was probably the most appropriate thing to discuss, so as not to seem self-centered or even insane.

"How is your arm?" she asked, fiddling with her hair for a way to engage her hands. "Thirty-three stitches. That's brutal."

"Eh…" Marshall shrugged unconcernedly, stretching further back into the sofa and crossing his ankles beneath the blankets. "Sore," he admitted, giving the bright white binding the once over. "But, it could have been much worse; I'm very lucky."

"Always the optimist," Mary declared to avoid dwelling on her part in this disaster.

Marshall cocked his head, "Do I detect a note of admiration in what would usually be an accusation?"

She chuckled, "Maybe. It's only once every three years that I give you compliment or something, right?"

"Nah…" Marshall dropped the charade. "It's more than that – it just comes out in your own special way," he joked.

"Yeah, that's me…" Mary quipped, sounding much more bitter. "Special."

Quiet fell around them once more while Marshall readjusted his blankets and Mary tried to readjust her demeanor, but it wasn't easy knowing Abigail could walk in at any moment. After everything she had been told by Stan and Delia, the detective was none too pleased with her. She was dying to know if Marshall had picked up on any such vibe, but now wasn't the time to ask.

Unfortunately, she should have known by now that her poker face had long since expired.

"Mary?" her partner's voice brought her back from examining the pictures on the walls.

"Hmm?" she gnawed her thumbnail nervously.

"Something on your mind?"

"Oh…" she shook her head, not wanting to get into anything now. "No. I'm just – I'm sorry that I embarrassed myself this morning," this was a decent diversion and she ran with it. "Really, I was just running on fumes – I was tired and I didn't have the whole story. I shouldn't have flipped out like that. It was stupid," she finished rambling.

Predictably, Marshall saw no issue, and he also knew this hadn't been what she was thinking about.

"Perfectly understandable," he claimed valiantly. "Are you sure that's all?" he peered quizzically at her from down the couch. "You seem a little distracted."

Mary hummed indistinctly in response, jiggling her foot absentmindedly, puttering about the coffee table she sat on and straightening magazines that didn't need to be tidied. She supposed this only fed Marshall's idea that she was abstracted, but it didn't matter.

"Let's not talk about me…" she mused quietly with an offhand smile that was anything but happy. "I feel like all we do is talk about me these days."

Marshall ignored her almost instantly, "Are you still feeling down?"

Mary had every intention of spitting at him that she'd just asked not to be discussed, but her heart wasn't in it. Her heart was in very few things anymore. Nothing she said or did seemed to fix the weighted, heavy feeling in the pit of her stomach.

"I don't know…" she voiced, moving a stack of articles to her lap and straightening the edges. "I guess I'm 'down' enough that I've reached Finkel status."

This definitely alerted Marshall. He sat up further in his pillows, which prompted a cringe when he had to move his arm. Mary wanted to tell him to take it easy, but he'd already shot off like a rocket with intrigue.

"What do you mean?" he prodded eagerly. "Shelley's coming? And you're going to talk to her? Voluntarily?" he seemed rather dubious, and Mary couldn't blame him.

"Only two out of three, Poindexter," she scored him with a snide chortle. "Stan called Finkel and he's making me talk to her. I'm not sure that constitutes 'voluntary,'" having done all she could with the magazines, she discarded them to the tabletop once more and twiddled her thumbs, unable to keep herself still.

She had to give Marshall credit though. While he typically would be spouting off all the reasons why therapy could be beneficial, he seemed empathetic to her plight and knew not to press his luck. Instead, he proceeded cautiously, not without buoyancy thrown in for good measure.

"Shelley's decent, Mary," he reminded her, crossing his legs underneath him now, like he was about to be told a story. "She won't plumb the depths. Just talk to her. Do everything you've been doing with me."

Mary lifted her eyebrows, "Everything I've been doing with you?"

"Well…you've been exceptional at just telling me whatever you're thinking and whatever you're feeling," he praised lightly. "If you do the same with Shelley, I'm sure she'll do anything she can to help you."

This was Marshall-lingo for a motto Mary might adopt such as, 'Be honest and you'll get out of there a lot faster.' But, he and she both knew she hadn't told him everything. He wouldn't have been goading her to admit to wanting a child if she'd fessed up completely.

"I don't like talking about this stuff with other people…" she admitted to avoid Marshall touching on this. "Finkel will think I'm off-my-rocker."

"No, she won't," Marshall insisted gently. "She's used to this kind of thing. I'm sure Stan really appreciates you stepping up and going through with it."

Mary decided not to mention that she'd tried to quit in lieu of going to counseling. It wasn't something he needed to know. Instead, she took a different route.

"I don't see what good he thinks it's going to do," it wasn't her intention to blame Stan, but it stopped her thinking about all the other screwy things she could be sharing. "Or why he thinks D.C. or anybody is going to care if she signs some form. It's not like before – I didn't become traumatized on the job or anything…" she was remembering when she'd been abducted.

"Perhaps not," Marshall agreed amicably. "Still, the Service likes you to go through with the process of therapy when there's any sort of event that keeps you from performing your job to the required standard…"

"You sound like a brochure," Mary sniped. "Or an infomercial."

Marshall laughed, "I'm just saying. Think of it as a formality, if you like."

"Or I could think of it as degrading," she bemoaned in an undertone.

He knew not to laugh now. Mary blinked at him, saddened and markedly melancholy, still unable to believe it had come to this. It had come to her having to speak to a shrink. She was in way too deep now.

But Marshall, heaped inside his blankets, wearing his white undershirt, his hair all tousled, was as indulgent as she'd ever known him to be.

"I'm sure it makes you apprehensive," he said almost mournfully, which she knew was for her benefit. "Just speak from your heart. That only _sometimes_ gets you in trouble," he winked and sent her a soft smile.

Mary did her best to smile back, but she wasn't sure this was the best strategy to use. Speaking 'from her heart' would only complicate things. That would include Jamie, and she was never going to be in a mood to have her dreams analyzed.

"There are just…some things I like to keep to myself…" was her way of voicing this. "Things I don't feel like anybody should know…"

She shouldn't have opened her mouth. She should've known phrases like those were begging Marshall to unlock the key to her most intimate ideals, even if he would be disobeying her direct wishes.

And, she could tell by the scowl on his otherwise handsome face that this was exactly what she'd prompted.

"What kind of things?"

Mary gave him the best incredulous look she could muster, "Anybody includes you, doofus."

"Fair enough, fair enough," he tried to hold up his hands to signal defeat, but this aggravated his stitches and he stopped. "Just, you know if you ever do feel like unloading…"

Mary was about to say that she was going to get enough of that come her session with Finkel, when the front door opened and she heard the familiar, but none-too-welcome voice of Abigail as she stepped over the threshold.

The inspector actually jumped, like her and Marshall had been caught doing something indecent, which was beyond ridiculous. She knew it was the nature of their conversation that made her do it, and then she remembered all the accusations that Abigail was less than tickled about her.

"Sugar bug!" she twittered gaily, dumping rustling paper sacks on the counter without looking up. "There's a car across the road! Any idea…?"

She ended her question as soon as she saw Mary sitting on the coffee table, and her face fell just like someone had yanked a string and pulled it to the floor. Mary did all she could to seem nonchalant, even pleasant, but as she felt that way so infrequently these days, it wasn't likely to happen with Abigail in the room.

"Mary…" the brunette stated, losing her flighty air in an instant.

"Hi Abigail…" the mentioned waved moronically, as though this would help anything. "Sorry. I-I guess I should have called…" she didn't know why she was apologizing; it wasn't even Abigail's house.

"I told you she was stopping by, didn't I?" Marshall interposed merrily, coming off almost jaunty. "Before you left for the store."

"I…I guess I forgot," Abigail claimed, still without smiling.

"Well…" Mary decided she might as well go the whole nine yards here. After all, Marshall had been so good to her. "You're not the first person to forget something today."

Maybe if she showed that she recognized what a massive gaffe she'd made in oversleeping, Abigail would loosen up. This was the only thing she could think of to do. The detective was so much more frosty than usual. As it was, she tried to jerk something resembling a grin onto her face, but it was strained at best.

"You know Mary, Marshall was at the hospital quite a long time…" though her southern accent was fully prevalent, it sounded so much harsher.

Unsure where this was headed, the blonde concurred, "No, I know; waiting rooms are a bitch…"

"I thought maybe his Marshal status would get him through…"

"Me too; I'm surprised it didn't…" Mary remembered only too well how she'd been fast-tracked with her own recent experience at the hospital.

"Maybe if you were there next time, he wouldn't have to hang around so long."

Mary's eyes scanned left to right the merest division following that phrase. While she was sure only seconds went by between Abigail's charge and the next sentence, it felt like hours. A boiling, bubbling sensation erupted in the pit of Mary's gut as she felt the sting of accusation once again.

The other woman was quick though, "Two badges better than one, right?"

While Mary nodded, pretending she accepted the joke, the smirk she received from Abigail now was so utterly fake she could hardly keep her lunch down. The girlfriend had been blaming her, point-blank before tacking her gag on the end, but Mary wasn't fooled in the least.

Judging by Marshall's stricken features, he wasn't either. He could clearly feel the animosity radiating from Abigail.

"Ab, I told you; Mary being there wouldn't have made any difference…" although he kept his tone clean, there was a definite indication of firmness within. "They were really booked up, and it wasn't as though I was an emergency."

Mary, though she tried to conceal it, was feeling more vexed by the minute. First, Abigail had tried to rush Marshall to the hospital so his partner wouldn't be able to see him, and now she was contradicting herself and pointing fingers for her not being there? It didn't add up. Mary knew she'd never been overly polite around Abigail, but did she deserve this?

Evidently so.

"Marshall Mann, you needed thirty-three stitches," Abigail asserted with only a smidgen of good humor. "If that's not an emergency, then I don't know what is."

Mary couldn't given her plenty of afflictions that took precedence, but she knew now wasn't the time.

"It…its water under the bridge at this point," Marshall stuttered as Abigail waltzed over to him and shimmied her way practically into his lap. He accepted this, but Mary was sitting so close with her legs dangling off the coffee table that it was a patent attempt to get her to move. "I am all fixed up; well on the mend."

Yet again, Mary was forced to watch the brunette snuggle with Marshall and she decided she might as well stand, as was clearly being presented.

"I certainly should have been there," she interjected in one last brave attempt to placate Abigail. "It is a mistake I don't plan on making twice."

Abigail ignored this completely, "I'm sure Marshall's tired, though…" she fingered his chest, her auburn eyes fixed on Mary. "After all day in the emergency room, it's best if he gets some rest."

Somehow, though she'd never know how, Mary managed to hold her tongue, but it took actual biting to get the job done. She cast a look she hoped was not too anguished at Marshall, wondering if he was going to speak for himself, but saw that he was just as taken aback as she was. It seemed Stan and Delia were right.

"Yeah…" Mary replied in a constricted voice. "Uh-huh," much less coherent. "I've gotta get going anyway. I need to check on Beatrix."

Rather against her better judgment, Abigail was curious, "Beatrix?"

Mary hunched her shoulders, "My cat. Kitten, really. She's still getting used to the house," having only been there for two days.

"_You_ got a cat?" Abigail laughed a little too condescendingly.

It was better than the iciness, but Mary still didn't like it, and she finally found her inner viciousness to depend upon.

"Well, I may have dropped the ball where Marshall's concerned," she bit with her trademark sarcasm, feeling the blood surge through her veins at such a valiant attempt. "But, I am _pretty_ sure I can still keep a cat alive. I'll call you if I need advice though, Nancy Drew."

Mary regretted using the name only because of the look on Marshall's face. He opened his mouth in something slightly less than shock, perhaps to shut them up, but Mary knew when she wasn't wanted. She didn't want to storm right out, but she had no plans to stick around much longer.

"Marshall, could I use the bathroom before I go?" she faced him and only him, forcing herself to drop the cynicism.

"Sure…" he nodded, also trying to get himself back on a more level plane. "No problem."

She skirted away as fast as she could, disappearing through the entrance to the hallway across the room and into the bathroom just a door down. It probably would have been best if she'd just gone, but she didn't want to give Marshall the impression that she would insult his girlfriend and leave. This way, she could let the pressure simmer down for a moment.

Still though, she definitely took her time in the bathroom, making quite a production of washing her hands and drying them. Only when the water stopped running was she able to hear that Marshall and Abigail were talking, something she could've expected.

If she stood all the way against the door, she could catch their words.

"Abigail, how come you're asking Mary to leave?" only Marshall could sound so understanding about such lack-of-tact.

"I didn't ask her to leave…"

"But, I'm perfectly fine; I don't need to rest…" he assured her. "We talked about this earlier; you can't pin this on her…" he sounded imploring now. "I gather you were scared and upset; I understand that. But, I think it's important you let it go…"

"Marshall, what about what _she_ said to _me_?" Abigail was clearly going to fight for her position. "You sat here and let her call me some childish name like she's in kindergarten…"

"Well Ab, you didn't have to laugh at her…"

Mary sighed slowly, moved by Marshall's defense of her, but feeling more and more shame the longer she stood with her ear pressed to the door. She had no idea her mere presence could irk Abigail so severely; that it could put such a wedge in her and Marshall's relationship. She'd messed up enough without messing this up too, and now she couldn't legitimately leave the bathroom. She'd have to wait until they quit talking.

"Marshall, I cannot believe you are taking her side!" the voice was rising now, and judging by the thump Mary heard, Abigail had stood up. "You think I don't know how she feels about me – how she _talks_ about me!"

"Abigail…" the man was resolutely calm; Mary had to admire it. "I concede that Mary is difficult sometimes, but she always comes around, and what happened today has nothing to do with whatever she's said in the past…"

"Why do you let her brainwash you like this?!"

Mary actually stepped back; she was so mystified by this comment. So, not only did Abigail think Marshall was dumb enough to be 'brainwashed' but she thought – what? – Mary was lying to him? Making up stories? Playing for sympathy?

"Do you really think that's fair?" Marshall wanted to know. And then, "You should keep your voice down. This isn't a conversation we should be having right now."

There was a pause. Mary thought maybe Abigail had relented, taken Marshall's words to heart, and left this argument for when their guest wasn't eavesdropping in the bathroom. The silence lasted so long; she considered that perhaps it was safe to exit. She was on the verge of turning the knob. Then…

"I don't understand why you have to see Mary outside of work."

The inspector almost didn't catch it. Abigail had apparently heeded Marshall's advice to an extent and dropped her tone, but that didn't make the statement any less shocking. Mary felt as though she was having some sort of out-of-body experience. This was an Abigail she had no knowledge of. Was she really this insecure? Had Mary or Marshall given her reason to be?

That was the real question.

It seemed Marshall was gathering himself, because she heard him through the wood.

"Abigail…" he exhaled, half-sensitive, half-doubtful. "She's my best friend. She'll _always_ be my best friend."

This, evidently, was the wrong thing to say. Mary heard footsteps and a lot of angry mutterings, none of which she could discern from her hiding place. She snatched expressions like, 'what if…' and 'wife…' which almost gave her a stroke, but in two seconds she heard the swift slam of a door. Stunned, she stood rooted to the spot. Had Abigail left?

Minutes into her contemplation, however, she realized that was exactly the case when no more noise sounded. Mortified, she knew there was nothing else to be done. She was going to have to go out and face whatever had been left in the gale. Trying to mount her courage, she opened the door and ventured back down the hall.

Marshall was sitting right where Mary had left him, adjusting his dressing with a glum look on his face, but he looked up when he heard her come in.

"Hey…" he nodded stiffly and gave a rigid smile that didn't show his teeth. "You headed out?"

If he was going to pretend, she might as well do the same, "I suppose." But, she knew instantly she couldn't, "Where's Abigail?"

Marshall shrugged feebly, dropping the game with the pointed question Mary had raised. He looked to his lap and she looked at the floor. She hated, deeply hated, that there was such sudden awkwardness between them. It wasn't supposed to be like this.

She decided it was up to her to patch up the chaos she'd caused in the first place – and all because of an innocent little baby.

"I'm sorry…" Mary droned in a weary voice, thinking she'd apologized more in the last few days than she had in her whole life. "I'm sorry that I'm – that I'm – I don't know…" she shook her head. "Abigail wants more time with you that I'm holding up…" Marshall opened his mouth to quiet her, but she kept it in full flow. "And, I know my busybody mother told you I felt that way, just FYI."

Marshall remained mum for a moment, not sure which eventuality to tackle first. Mary wanted to run out the door and keep running until she collapsed.

"I suppose it's possible I've been insensitive to Abigail," he eventually landed on. "But, you have nothing to do with it. If she knew what you were going through…"

This reminded Mary of Delia, who had said the exact same thing, "I'm pretty sick of hearing that," she mulled bitterly. "I wish the world wouldn't turn upside-down just because I can't get my head on straight where this kid is concerned."

It was clear Marshall wanted to say something to the effect of mourning being a natural process, but he knew he'd rehashed that far too many times too. With Finkel on the way, he couldn't be sure Mary wouldn't pop off about such things.

"I'm sure Abigail is merely shaken by the accident," he gestured blandly at his arm for something to say. "Which is no excuse, but just the same. I'll call her later and sort it out. It's nothing you should dwell upon."

Oddly enough, Mary had no plans to. She had so many other things heaped on her pile; there simply wasn't room for someone as trivial as Abigail. Mark was coming at the end of the week, which was rapidly approaching, Finkel would probably be in the next day, and she had Jamie to return to that night. She knew she shouldn't be yearning for him, but she was. He was her escape.

"I should get going…" she jerked her thumb at the door without answering his assertion. "I'm sure Beatrix is yowling around the laundry room by now." Marshall made to stand up, but she waved him back, "I don't need an escort. Keep that wound stable."

Reluctantly, her partner stayed where he was and Mary headed for the door. Halfway there, however, she stopped without thinking about it. Although there was so much crammed into her subconscious these days, one proclamation – said so forcefully, with such passion – was lingering behind. She clung to it almost as much as she clung to Jamie.

"Marshall?"

He lifted his sweet blue eyes, "Hmm?"

She sighed again, hoping beyond hope he'd meant what he'd said. In some ways, she supposed it didn't matter one way or the other. What was about to come out of her mouth was the surest thing she'd spoken in a long time.

"You'll always be my best friend too."

XXX

**A/N: Ha! Abigail is digging her own grave, huh? Thank-you kindly for the reviews! Hugs to you all!**


	28. Chapter 28

**A/N: I am moved beyond words. Last night, you surpassed my previously-most-popular story by two reviews. My record was 222 and you got me to 224 – and the story isn't even over yet! I am humbled by your kind words and support. Here's the next part…**

XXX

Mary and Marshall seemed to make a silent pact the next day not to discuss what had happened with Abigail. Marshall was glad to be back at work, but couldn't help noticing that his partner was as jittery as ever – perhaps even more so than usual. She jumped at minor noises and almost dropped her coffee several times. When he tried to question her about this, she just waved him off saying she was tired.

And Marshall supposed this must be true, because by the time lunch rolled around, he found Mary asleep at her desk. He was jarred initially, thinking surely she'd just shut her eyes for a moment; this was hardly customary, even given everything that had gone on in the last week. But, he could clearly see her breathing serenely through her nose, her arms folded on top of all her papers, hair tumbling in a sheet over her face.

His instinct was to hide this from Stan, knowing already how potentially unstable he thought Mary was. But, it appeared Stan already knew. He ventured out of his office and shook his head to Marshall watching her, putting a finger to his lips.

"Let her sleep…" their boss insisted softly. "It's her lunch and Finkel's going to be here soon."

Marshall wagged his head, "She won't be happy…"

"You can make something up," Stan shrugged. "I'll pretend I didn't see her; make it less embarrassing for her."

Marshall wasn't sure how to respond, "I…thanks…" he expressed on Mary's behalf. "Still…" he didn't know why he'd gone on; he had nothing else to say.

Both of them watched Mary snooze on momentarily, some of her papers fluttering listlessly in the breeze from her nose. Marshall thought she looked peaceful; it was the first time he'd seen her appear as such all day. Stan, however, grabbed hold of the silence and used it to beckon his inspector beyond so they wouldn't wake her.

"Marshall, come here a second…" he indicated his office and the man followed, leaving Mary to her nap.

The shorter of the two didn't go all the way inside, however. He stopped in the doorway, forcing Marshall to do the same. He waited, feeling a little unsettled by the look on Stan's face. Despite his apparent understanding of Mary's need for rest, there was still something troubling him, perhaps greatly.

"Marshall…" he licked his lower lip in thought, glancing once to Mary and back again. "I hope I'm not overstepping my bounds here…"

As he hadn't given up the topic of discussion yet, Marshall didn't see how and merely nodded, "I doubt it. Whatever's on your mind; I am happy to be your ear."

This earned Mary another glimpse before Stan continued.

"Marshall, I'm really concerned something's not right with her…"

"Well, I know," Marshall interjected. "That's why you wanted her to talk to Shelley, right?"

"Yes-yes…" Stan agreed. "But, I mean…"

He gave his inspector a most peculiar look then, one Marshall couldn't entirely read. It was as though he expected him to know what was coming, almost like he was being dim. Marshall knew Stan wouldn't make him feel dense on purpose, and so he must be truly concerned.

"You didn't…find it odd…" the chief stammered slowly. "The way she reacted when you were stabbed yesterday?"

"Well, I admit I was a tad surprised…" Marshall claimed casually. "But, I think she was just thrown, and she felt horrible that she didn't make it in time."

Stan had to respect how heartily Marshall believed in Mary's good side, but he feared they were getting in much too deep. Although he constantly reminded himself that it had only been six days, not enough time for Mary to be through the grieving process, he feared for how far and fast she seemed to be plummeting.

It was a moment before he realized that Marshall was still staunchly defending her.

"It's actually extremely healthy, the way she's been handling the miscarriage," he dictated in a low voice, as though Mary might wake and hear him. "She's been so open and so honest with me…" Stan didn't miss how fervent he sounded about this. "It's good for her; it really is."

Stan's qualms had just been confirmed; as had the fact that Marshall was urging this along. He could stay quiet no longer.

"Marshall," and he made sure it came out very serious. He laid a hand on his good forearm and looked directly up into his face. "She cried. She _cried_," he emphasized. "She was hysterical just because you sliced your arm open."

"Well, I told you; that was because…"

"No-no," Stan shook his head, stopping him in his tracks. "Think, inspector. I don't know who we've got here, but it isn't Mary," he indicated their fellow with a jerk of his head. "You know this isn't like her. And, I think you have to ask yourself when this surpasses a healthy broken heart and becomes…"

He cast around for the right phrase, Marshall waiting patiently, his eyebrows furrowed.

"She's acting traumatized," he whispered so covertly it was like they were discussing witnesses in public.

Marshall decided at once that he didn't like that word, and he suddenly felt more uncomfortable around Stan than he could ever remember. He did his best to keep his place, to not rise, but his built-in mechanism to support Mary until the bitter end couldn't be entirely put to bed.

"I think we should let Shelley decide if it's that serious."

Stan nodded, obviously still wondering if he'd violated some invisible barrier, but he held firm, "I have every intention of letting Shelley make the diagnosis," he agreed. "But, Marshall…" it seemed he had used his name a lot today and put his fingers to his elbow once more. "You know there's something going on with her. You have to know. She's not herself and she's not getting any better."

The feeling of discomfort increased for Marshall and he shuffled his feet, suddenly sensing he was in a giant spotlight. He had taken a gander Mary seemed more edgy than normal, but he'd been so pleased she was confiding in him; so pleased they'd taken their friendship to that level. Did that make him selfish?

"I'm not sure what you what me to do, chief," he voiced in a falsely businesslike tone. "Mary has to heal in her own way and in her own time."

"You think I don't watch you two?" he switched gears rather abruptly, and Marshall struggled to understand what he meant, and was then thoroughly bowled over by his next words. "You don't think I see…?" hedging only for a moment. "You don't think I see the way you look at Mary?"

Whatever Marshall had expected in the rapid switch of discussion, it was hardly this. Coming from anybody else, he would've looked at it as an accusation – an unfounded accusation at that. But somehow, hearing Stan say it made him think his boss had exhausted all other options. It was like there was nothing left to do but lay it all out on the table.

Marshall swallowed, wondering how he was possibly going to answer. What Stan was clearly thinking was hard to deny, but he'd certainly spent a long time trying. His relationship with Abigail proved that.

"I…I mean…" he rubbed the back of his neck, laughing in hopes that he could lighten up and find this easier, but he couldn't. "Mary and I…we…" he'd never felt so flustered. "We-we've known each other a long time…friends have a certain…" he felt himself begin to stray. "…A certain vibe; a certain connection…"

"I didn't want to put you on the spot, inspector," Stan declared, although it seemed otherwise. "But, I think it is safe to say this goes beyond friendly connections. I don't know about her, but you…" he blew out in something resembling a whistle. "I think it's time you faced this, pal. You owe it to yourself and to Mary."

Marshall decided that this provided him an opportunity to stall, "Faced what?"

Now Stan looked almost exasperated, if not slightly amused. Still, now that he'd gone this far, he might as well go all the way.

"You are _crazy_ about her…" he didn't choose the word 'love' but Marshall could tell by the way he dropped his voice again that-that was what he meant. "And judging by Abigail's little hissy fit yesterday; she's picked up on it."

Marshall scuffed his boots on the floor, examined his bandaged arm, even rubbed his hands on his jeans in an effort to figure out his rebuttal. He did not know how they had ended up here so quickly. It was supposed to have been about Mary and her issues, not him and his undisclosed desires.

"I think maybe Abigail's jealous," he acknowledged darkly, although there was no 'maybe' about it. "Yesterday when Mary stopped by the house, she couldn't wait to get rid of her."

"Yeah, I spotted that behavior down in Mesa Ridge," Stan reminded him. "She's got her reasons for being suspicious, Marshall, but I am afraid she is really going to come between you two if you stay together."

He'd never heard Stan speak so candidly, but it was really throwing him off, and his disorientation flew out his mouth.

"So, now you're saying Abigail and I should break up?" he wondered. "I thought we were worried about Mary – I thought she was the one who was going to talk to Shelley. Now it sounds like you think I should too."

Stan didn't back off, "I just think it's time you made some decisions," he said distinctly. "And with everything that's happened to Mary, I think the time is now. If Finkel can't get her to divulge what's really bothering her, then the only person she'll tell is you."

"I'm not sure she _will_ tell me…" Marshall muttered, remembering Mary's adamant claims the day before that there were things she wanted to keep in the vault forever. "_Why_ she thinks admitting she wants to be a mother is such a sin, I'll never know…"

"You think that's it?" the bald one interrupted curiously.

"I don't know. Maybe. She seems really reluctant to talk about anything involving _what_ she lost or rather, _who_ she lost," he wasn't sure he was describing it well. "I don't know, it's complicated."

"Mmm…" Stan hummed in thought, and although Marshall should've been glad they were off the subject of his feelings, he decided now was the moment to take control of the conversation.

"Why would my telling Mary how I feel…?" he uttered quietly. "If indeed I do feel any such way…" he corrected himself. "Why would that help her? It would freak her out; it would only make things worse."

"Yeah, at first…" Stan leaned even further into the doorway, as though thinking they might be here awhile. "But, it would give her something to hold onto – one way or the other. If it's out there, you can deal with it and move on," he went on. "You guys are tight. If it's meant to be, you'll withstand the test of time whether Mary feels the same way you do or not."

Marshall, still stunned they were speaking so freely about this, chortled sullenly, "Meant to be," he repeated. "I don't think Mary's much for that kind of thinking."

"Yeah…" Stan chuckled too. "Yeah, you're probably right."

Marshall was glad for the quiet that settled on them then. It gave him a chance to process, his thoughts punctuated only by the gentle snores from Mary on the other side of the room. Standing tall in front of his boss, he tried to reflect upon what he'd been charged with here.

Stan thought he was in love with Mary, and possibly that she was in love with him, judging by the way she'd clung to him lately. He also thought he was masking this love by hanging onto the idea that Mary's pronounced depression was healthy, rather than plunging further into the depths.

He supposed this last allegation could be true. Before the miscarriage, Mary had barely disclosed anything to him; those moments were few and far between. She was so closed off and introverted with her emotions, but now that she'd gone the other direction he had seized it and held it close. The only reason he would've done that was so he could bask in her need of him – a need he'd never harbored from Abigail.

If he was honest with himself, he'd never doubted his feelings for Mary – just her feelings for him.

"You should join Finkel in the shrink department," Marshall eventually quipped with a more natural smile. "Sounds like you've got me all figured out."

"No, hardly…" Stan ultimately climbed off the ladder now that Marshall was accepting his words. "I'm an outsider; I see things you don't notice up close. Hell, if it were me I'd be as lost as you two," now his inspector knew he was teasing.

"I just…I want Mary to be happy…" Marshall sighed in defeat. "I've never been sure if being with me for all eternity is going to make her happy."

"Well, I can't answer that one," Stan shook his head. "But, your happiness matters too, and there's no guaranteeing you'll find it if you sit on this for another ten years."

"I guess," Marshall shoved his hands into his pockets. "I'd like to see what Shelley thinks of Mary. Maybe if we can get her straightened out a little bit, then…"

He trailed away, unsure what could come to pass if Mary started acting a little more normally again. He'd never considered the possibility that he might be part of the reason she was so confused, even if neither of them knew it.

"One step at a time…" Stan said soundly. And then, "You'd better finish your lunch. Wake her when I'm not looking," he grinned.

Marshall nodded as his chief retreated into his office. Slowly, feeling oddly defeated, he meandered back the direction he had come. His intention was to head for his own desk, but instead found that his feet took him to Mary. Although he'd tried to deny it, he'd known Stan was right. Crying every day, being off schedule, and falling asleep at her desk wasn't Mary. While he welcomed a more sensitive side, he also knew he missed his snarky partner, and he hoped the miscarriage wouldn't leave a permanent mark on her psyche; one she couldn't hurdle over.

Instinctively, he reached out and ran his hand over Mary's hair, hoping this wouldn't stir her. It was soft and slid like water through his fingers. He wanted desperately for her to be all right; for her to find her way back.

He just couldn't be sure it would be with him.

_Mary stood in the kitchen pretending she couldn't hear them. They were talking in hushed, overly mysterious whispers that carried all the way across the room. She almost found it funny, how bad they were at disguising whatever plan they had cooked up. Nonetheless, she busied herself with a pan of sauce on the stove and acted perfectly blasé, like she couldn't glean a single word._

"_We'll do it tonight, boss, okay?" Marshall murmured._

"_But, you said mom's birthday isn't until tomorrow…" Jamie squeaked back, almost giggling with the effort of concealing the arrangement._

"_That's what makes it a surprise," his father insisted. "This way, she won't be expecting it."_

"_Oh, cool…" Jamie was suddenly sure. "But, how come she gets a surprise, anyway? Nobody surprised me on my birthday."_

_Mary perked her ears to listen to what was sure to be a diplomatic response from Marshall._

"_Well, think of all the things mom does for us…" he began proudly. "She keeps us safe by going to work…"_

"_So do you, dad," Jamie interrupted admiringly. "You're a Marshal too."_

"_Maybe so," he was probably nodding, Mary thought; she could see them in her mind's eye with their matching baby blues. "But, mom's really the brains of the operation; you know that."_

_Mary grinned as she heard Jamie laugh._

"_And, she does so much more than just protect us," he might as well have been giving a speech. "She tucks you in every night. She makes your lunch every morning. She taught you how to ride a bike and she helps you with your homework…" the list seemed to go on and on. "She loves us both more than I could ever describe to you, chief. She deserves a surprise. That's for sure."_

_Slowly, Mary turned from her place in the kitchen and saw her son curled up on his father's lap, the smaller of the two with his head under his chin. Marshall was rubbing his back and whispering in his ear, trying to nod him off to sleep, perhaps so he could be ready to wake later and conduct this surprise._

_It was a picture that touched Mary's heart, one that she could watch over and over again like a favorite old movie. It seemed to play back against her lids time after time, and never once did she get tired of it._

_Marshall glanced upward and saw her eavesdropping, but he obviously knew they wouldn't be able to hide for long. She thought he might put a finger to his lips, so as to keep her presence under wraps, but no._

_Mouthing, from across the room, "I love you."_

_And Mary, with a burning desire and confidence she possessed with no other phrase, had to return the favor._

"_I love you too."_

XXX

**A/N: I don't know why, but Mary falling asleep as her desk was something I saw in my head pretty early on when I started this story. I can't say for sure where it came from, but I used it anyway. This little snippet of dream isn't my favorite either, but I did my best. And Stan – tired of his inspectors dithering around; he's gonna get to the bottom even if no one else is! ;)**


	29. Chapter 29

**A/N: Again, I feel I must thank you for the reviews! I'm sure everyone is glad that Stan is stepping in! Now we'll see what becomes of Mary…**

XXX

All of Mary's five senses seemed to be more finely tuned than ever before. She could smell the coffee brewing in the kitchenette like the pot was right in front of her. She could feel the leather of the couch brush her fingers, smooth and rippled; even feel it beneath the seat on her jeans. Her ears were on alert for the slightest sign of movement; every rustle of paper, every scratch of the pencil, every possible footstep coming down the hall. Her mouth was unusually dry and she could taste the toast she had munched for breakfast, almost as though the cinnamon were popping on her tongue. And then, of course, she could see. She could see everything.

There was Shelley Finkel sitting in front of her wearing a charcoal grey pencil skirt and a pale pink top with a v-neck. Her pad of paper was balanced on bended knee, and her thick brunette hair fell in waves down her chest. She was entirely, solidly calm. It was always this about the woman that infuriated Mary. It was a different calm than Marshall projected, though she couldn't say how.

The sofa was hard and much too large. It made her want to stand up. It didn't help that she could see out the window to the main room beyond where Marshall was working and pretending he wasn't glancing this direction every few minutes. Although they were far enough down the hall he wouldn't be able to hear anything, he could watch all he wanted, like she was some animal in the zoo.

The longer Shelley sat in silence making routine notes – statistics, she called them – the more self-conscious Mary became. She was very aware that her face was flushed and her hair matted from where she'd been lying sprawled on her desk. She attempted to flatten it while Shelley wasn't looking, just grateful she had managed to escape Stan noticing she'd crashed during lunch. Marshall had said he'd never come out of his office, thus not picking up on this fact. Just as well. He thought she was crackers already.

Finally, it seemed an eternity to Mary, Shelley laid her pencil aside, fixing Mary with her usual, unblinking, impassive stare.

"Well, Mary…" she began in something close to a monotone. "Stan did not give me details on why he felt another evaluation was necessary. So, why don't you tell me why you're here?"

The inspector started off juvenile, "Because Stan made me."

Shelley nodded so slowly Mary thought she could count the seconds in-between, "And why do you think Stan made you?"

Well, that was a can of worms if ever Mary had heard one. She had every intention of evading the issue, of living up to the reputation she'd created with Shelley when she'd been her shadow after she'd been abducted. But then, she remembered what Marshall had said to her yesterday.

Be honest. Tell the truth. Pretend she was talking to him.

Well, that last bit was unlikely, but she also knew this method would get her out of here faster, and she definitely wanted that.

"He really didn't tell you?" Mary questioned, referring to Stan. "Why'd you come out then?"

Finkel shrugged, "He just said he felt you needed a session or two to sort a few things out in case anybody from D.C. came to call. I had the time to spare, so I made the trip."

Mary sighed, on the verge of asking Shelley where she'd flown from, not knowing where she was stationed when she wasn't working with WITSEC. Then she changed her mind and thought she might ask the shrink to guess what her problem was. Chances were, it would take her awhile.

"Was there an event of some kind?" the therapist asked before Mary could get started. "Another hostage or shooting situation?"

The other woman chuckled sardonically, "Not quite."

Shelley held out a hand, spanning it palm up across the empty space in front of them, "Well, the floor is yours, Mary. Tell me what's going on."

That space she had just indicated seemed blanker than ever before. It was just carpet and ceiling, and yet Mary suddenly saw it as this basin she was going to fill up with every thought and every emotion she'd ever had in the last week. The problem was, she didn't know how long she'd have to talk to bring it to the top. She feared it would take forever.

Trying to stare at Shelley, so as not to seem weak, she began.

"Last week I lost a baby," she claimed bluntly. "I had a miscarriage."

She amazed herself at how ordinary she made it seem. She'd yet to say it so flatly, like revealing it was a mere formality. Shelley, however, seemed almost dazed – there was certainly more of a clue to her feelings written on her face than usual. She often worked very hard to appear neutral, but this time she didn't make the effort.

"Mary, I'm sorry," the inspector detected a note of sincerity. "I really didn't know that was it. Stan thought it would be helpful for you to see me?" she tried to get back on track. "Can we back up a little bit? You mind if I ask a few questions?"

Mary shook her head, tight-lipped and unresponsive, thinking it probably didn't matter whether she gave consent here or not. Shelley was going to ask anyway. That was her job.

"Was this a planned pregnancy?"

Another wag of her head, "No."

"Were you early enough in gestation that you hadn't told people you were expecting?"

"Marshall knew," Mary replied stiffly, suddenly not liking how official this was becoming. "Nobody else. They do now."

She caught a frown in Shelley's otherwise smooth features, "Who is 'they?'"

"My mother and my sister," she was almost whispering now. "Stan, obviously."

Shelley's incredulity remained. Mary had to admire how quickly she built the story.

"Not the father of the baby?"

This time she sighed when she shook her head for the third time, "No. I didn't tell him."

Mary couldn't wait to hear what _this_ said about her. That she'd become pregnant with an unsuspecting man's child and not even done him the courtesy of telling him he was going to be a father.

"Do you plan on telling him?" Shelley powered on.

The answer was less direct this time. Although Mary had fretted initially over Mark's knowledge on the subject, she hadn't given it much thought since he'd called. Marshall's accident and the mess with Abigail had driven it from her mind, but she supposed, as the 'end of the week' was fast approaching he would be arriving soon. She either would or she wouldn't.

"I don't know…" another exhale. "I hadn't really considered it. The father is my ex-husband, not some stranger or anything," said with a hint of acrimony, as though Shelley had indicted her with such things. "His name is Mark."

"Is Mark here in town?" Shelley wanted to know, now scribbling on her trusty pad.

"No," Mary was glad she was back to that single word, although she seemed to be using it an awful lot. "He lives in New Jersey."

Shelley looked up, her eyebrows raised, "Contentious divorce?"

Mary would've thought it would've been a therapist's job not to pass judgment, and she supposed that wasn't what Finkel was doing, but just the same. She was making an assumption based on lack-of-contact and distance.

"Not exactly…" Mary rectified, beginning to feel like she was being interrogated. "I married Mark when I was seventeen. He was twenty-two. We divorced thirty-six hours after getting hitched, and that's pretty much all she wrote," she gave a lofty smirk to conclude this explanation. "He was here a couple months ago for some sort of convention," she fiddled with a dark spot on her jeans to avoid staring at Shelley. "As Marshall likes to say, 'who says you can't go home again?'"

She hadn't thought they would've needed to bring Mark into it. The way Mary saw it, he had very little to do with this whole thing, which was ridiculous since she wouldn't have gotten pregnant without him. But, he'd always seemed external to her; someone who hovered at the edges; neither here nor there. She didn't give him nearly as much thought as she probably should.

Shelley paused after writing something down and gazed almost dreamily in thought, like she wasn't sure which tack to take next. Mary had thought she'd probe Mark a little further, but she was wrong.

"You miscarried how long ago?" her voice turned much more somber, much graver, like she knew she was broaching a sensitive subject.

"It was last Thursday," Mary revealed with a tough swallow. "So, almost a week," it was Wednesday.

"Not a lot of time to come to terms with things," Shelley declared, which came as a surprise to Mary.

"Well, I guess Stan wanted to get a jump on it," she responded to cover up that she was thrown.

Shelley opted not to go anywhere with that and led with her original question, "Did you miscarry at home or in the hospital?"

Mary had no idea why this was relevant, but then she recalled Doctor Wolk saying that natural miscarriage could sometimes be quite an ordeal. Perhaps this was why Shelley thought she might be disturbed by the tribulation, which was a depressing thought. Mary didn't fit the bill.

"Neither really, I guess…" she wished she could sound slightly more lucid and coughed unnecessarily as though this would clear her scratchy throat. "I was in pain and Marshall took me to the OBGYN's office. They told me what had happened and they did…"

She wasn't going to talk about that procedure. Nobody, not even Shelley, was going to make her. She felt faint every time she came anywhere near approaching it. All she could think about was what had been taken from her while she'd been under, and it made her restless all over.

Unfortunately, Finkel visibly picked up on her shift in mood. She was edging on the couch, inching closer to the armrest.

"They did what?" she prompted.

Mary shook her head and fibbed, "Nothing. They told me I miscarried. That was it."

Apparently, however, Shelley was well-versed in the ins and outs of miscarriage, more so than Mary had been anyway. She narrowed her eyes, halting with her pencil tip still on her paper.

"Then, you did miscarry at home?" she tried to clarify.

Mary immediately became flustered and perturbed as she worked to come up with a plausible excuse for what had happened so they could leave this one aside. It was nothing compared to the rest. Not compared to Jamie.

"No, I just…!" her voice was noisier than she'd meant for it to be. She gripped hard at the armrest and dug her nails into the leather, "Does this matter?"

"It might," Shelley nodded sedately, acting in therapist-mode once more. "The idea seems to upset you. From what I understand – I wouldn't know, never having been through it myself – miscarriage in the home can be emotionally draining. If you're feeling…"

"Well, that's not what happened!" Mary burst angrily, pissed she was being goaded into this. "They put me under anesthesia and took the baby that way. I had the option to do it at home and I said no," she spit each word harshly.

Shelley remained composed, thinking perhaps she'd unlocked something here. Mary could tell by the way her eyes darted down to her paper and back to Mary. She could see the wheels turning.

"Do you regret that?"

Strangely enough, "No."

"You were glad the procedure was performed for you?"

Mary opened her mouth to respond, but then realized she didn't know what to say. Her heart was still racing from being trapped in the corner and she was fighting to stay even-tempered, to not come off the nutcase she was being made out to be.

Once again, she was reminded of Marshall's words. Be honest.

If she thought back to that day closely enough, a definite emotion came to mind.

"I thought I would be," she felt like she was choking on something when she tried to talk. "It seemed better than the alternative. But…"

She had no desire to get into specifics with Finkel, but knew that was why she was here. Still, this involved more than her brain, as was about to be uncovered.

"When I woke up, I felt like…"

She was barely aware of the other woman's presence, suddenly. She could see the operating room in her mind's-eye; see the silver tools and surgical gloves. She could hear the nurses talking about her like she wasn't there. She could almost feel the churning in her belly like she was going to be sick.

"It didn't feel like they'd helped me," she finished shamefully, only dimly aware that she'd admitted it aloud. "I felt like they'd stolen from me."

The phrase sounded foreign and also bogus. Mary couldn't believe she'd spoken something so childlike; it was the statement that brought her back to earth from her brief lapse. However, when she looked at Shelley, fully intending to confess that she knew how false this was, she seemed mildly interested.

"Do you think you felt helpless?" she inquired, placing the eraser to her chin.

Mary shuddered at such a thin, flimsy word. She hadn't wanted such a thing to ever define her.

"Maybe," she whispered, masking her tremble.

"Possibly because you didn't have control over the situation?"

And Mary knew, without doubt, that Shelley believed she had uncovered the mystery. They sat gazing at one another, Mary replaying the query over and over, examining it from all angles as though squinting or analyzing would make it appear something less than it was.

In the short time her and Finkel had spent together after she'd been kidnapped, she'd gained this one facet from Mary's existence. She liked to be in the driver's seat. She'd have two sets of eyes and four hands if she could. Her world was only upright when she was the one calling the shots. The instances where she lost her grip were the ones where she flew out of her element; unable to cope, unable to survive.

She'd thought it would take longer than this. They'd barely been here five minutes.

"What would control have to do with it?" Mary finally whispered, and her voice seemed very slim in their tiny space, like it was the only thing filling the vastness hanging between them.

"Well, how do you feel when things are out-of-control?"

Mary didn't really think there was a word to describe it. She was nudged so far against the left hand side of the couch that it was cutting into her flesh. Behind her, the window outside showed her a second thunderstorm was beginning to brew. The sky had been growing steadily darker all day.

It had apparently taken her too long to answer.

"Mary?"

Blinking, she faced Shelley once more, but the woman seemed transparent – as see-through as Mary had been lately.

"How do you feel when things are out-of-control?"

Repetition didn't give her much of a head start, but a brainwave coursed within, and she remembered the word Shelley had used prior. It was the only one that fit.

"Helpless," she murmured, definitely feeling like she couldn't breathe now, like there was something coming up her gullet. "Vulnerable."

Shelley herself was suddenly reminded forcibly of her last meeting in this room, and couldn't help recognizing the parallels.

"_Between her sister getting married, me spending more time with Abigail, lately it seems like Mary's being kind of…left behind."_

_She'd enjoyed watching the awareness brimming in his gaze._

"_So Marshall, I'll ask you again. At training, how'd you feel?"_

_The pause had seemed so lengthy to Shelley, but she'd learned how to let the second hand tick on. She saw Marshall's eyes begin to bathe and sparkle with tears._

"…_Powerless," he finally declared._

"_Like?"_

"_When Mary was abducted."_

These two, she thought almost smugly. They hadn't yet learned how alike they really were. But with a jerk back to reality, Shelley ascertained that Marshall's fear of his partner fading into the background had sadly become a much bigger issue. Mary, she imagined, was beginning to feel the shift as well.

Nonetheless, with her trademark training, Shelley zeroed in on the patient before her now, who was looking rather shaken by owning up to being vulernable.

Mary wasn't going to say anymore until asked, but hearing herself confess was disconcerting just the same. Unexpectedly, she wished to be told she wasn't helpless or vulnerable, or any of those disgusting, naive words that didn't belong to her. They belonged to the mortals of the world. Not to her.

And, no matter how she hoped, she knew it was true. Helpless was exactly how she'd felt, from the hospital and onward, and it seemed Shelley only aspired to take this deeper.

"Mary, let me ask you something," again, it was like she wanted acquiescence. "Before the miscarriage, when in your life have you felt the most – to use your word – helpless?"

She closed her eyes, trying to take herself from this room and this moment, not to answer Shelley's inquiry, but to escape. She used to be so good escaping, and no matter how detrimental it might be, she longed to be able to regain that ability. She'd lost it like she'd lost so many other things; the talent to close within and forget that she'd been denied, violated, betrayed, or kicked to the curb.

Without warning, a clear and sudden picture formed in her mind through the black.

She didn't see Marshall lying bleeding in the dirt when he'd been shot. She'd been in control then – scared, but relatively in charge.

She didn't see Jinx, standing with a black eye and a chipped tooth in court defending a DUI. Her mother had lost her clutch then, not the daughter.

She didn't see Brandi being dragged away by the FBI in her underwear. Her sister had been the culprit and dug her own grave.

She saw a man with a scruffy brown beard and bright, cobalt eyes. A man with a charming, charismatic smile and a warm hand that would slip effortlessly into her own. She saw that same hand sliding through her fingers; saw him stepping through the door in his white-button-down shirt with the streaks of navy pinstripe. She saw him promising in earnest he would be back.

Shelley must've known what she was thinking, because when Mary opened her eyes, she was just waiting. The blonde felt tears that had eked out while she'd had her lids closed, and they pooled in the corners, making the whites glimmer with wetness.

Helpless.

"When my father left."

She couldn't believe she was crying. She was crying where there were no tissues. Crying where there was no Marshall. Crying for a man who'd abandoned her, left her to fend for herself and others, and a man she had somehow woven into her dreams of a son she'd never had.

"Mary…" Shelley proposed gently, seeing the tears and trying to ignore them. "How old were you when your father left?"

The air she drew to speak made her exceptionally light-headed.

"Seven. Almost seven."

Finkel didn't miss a beat, "_Were_ you helpless?"

Focusing very hard on the high-heels on Shelley's feet, because who knew what kind of waterfall ogling her in the face would prompt, she accepted the loss and nodded. She tried so hard never to think about James. The pain he caused was too great.

It was too familiar to the pain of losing this child.

"Mary, do you miss your father?"

In a better mood, the inspector would've pondered a thousand times over why this made any difference. But, she was washed-up enough now that she was willing to consider the possibility that Shelley was simply asking to be kind. Just because.

And this time, she did more than nod. It came in a croak, "Yes."

Six thousand phrases were supposed to come after that solitary remark. She wasn't supposed to miss him. He was a criminal and a bastard and were he here; she would pull on the façade and never forgive him. But here, in the dark, thirty years beyond the little girl standing at the window waiting for him to come home, she yearned and yearned to know why.

Just like with Jamie. Why?

"But, you realize Mary…" Shelley's voice interrupted her pining. "If you were as helpless as you say when your father left you, you understand you can't be held accountable for him leaving."

Mary wanted to say she'd never expressed any guilt over that, but she knew where this was headed now.

"And, if you were as helpless as you say when you lost this baby, you understand you can't be held accountable for whatever went wrong."

Yet again, a million justifications tore through Mary's mind. She was old. She hadn't been careful. She'd screwed up. She was no mother and the universe had known it. But, there was no reason to say any of them. Hard to live with or not, she was sure Shelley was right.

"Understanding…" she replicated lethargically, still boring into Shelley's shoes. "Doesn't make it much easier to believe."

She heard the woman snicker without any mocking present above her, "Well, that's why people talk to psychologists. At least, that's what I tell myself."

Mary wanted to joke along with her, to pretend she found this in any way amusing, sour as it might have been, but she couldn't. Her already heavy heart had been made ten times more leaden with the thought of James on top of Jamie. The fact that Finkel had confirmed she had created Jamie out of her father was a lot to bear on an already shaky frame. She didn't have to divulge the dreams to know that was what happened.

As it was, Shelley was a decent enough therapist that she recognized she had lost her charge in the verdict.

"Mary…_have_ you been blaming yourself?" she wanted clarified. "I shouldn't have taken it for granted. Bad form on my part."

When she looked up, she knew her eyes were swimming with tears, and she could tell by the second look of astonishment in Shelley's brown orbs that she wasn't expecting it. She set her pencil aside once again, valuing the prospect of simply listening, but Mary knew she'd want to pick it up when she heard what was coming.

Her ribs were heaving with the effort of constraining her heart; like ropes of the barrier in a childhood game of Red Rover. While she vowed not to become a mess, she was so discouraged she didn't know how to get past any of it except to start spewing.

"Not just for losing the baby…" Mary moaned in such a tormented voice; it was tragic. "You don't know what I was going to do with the baby if he'd actually been born…"

And before Shelley could find out, she'd rattled onward.

"I wanted to give the baby up for adoption. I wasn't going to keep him. I wasn't going to be his mother. How can I sit here and blubber over him like he meant _anything_ to me?"

The lack of Kleenex was becoming obnoxiously apparent, but Shelley fished into her purse at her feet and dug out a package, which she tossed to Mary rather flippantly. Mar y was aware that she didn't want to make a show of it, that she wanted her to slow down, although she – like Marshall – probably thought coming clean was good for her.

And while the blonde blew her nose, she grabbed her chance in both hands.

"Mary…" it seemed she'd addressed her by name far too many times in one session. "Do you want him _now_?"

Yes. Yes. More than almost anything in the entire world.

"I don't know," Mary was only willing to go halfway, tone murky and clouded.

The look she received from Finkel was one that said she would eventually have to do better than that, but not today. If Stan wasn't satisfied with this meeting, there would be more.

"Mary, if you'd carried to term, you would have made a decision and lived with it," Shelley persisted, sounding less like a psychologist now and more like a person. "And this isn't a shrink talking, this is me," proving the inspector's theory. "We can drive ourselves crazy dwelling on all the mistakes we've made, all the choices we messed up, but even our blunders sometimes turn out for the best," she concluded optimistically. "Trust me when I tell you, if you want to have a child, you will find a way. I have never met a woman more determined than you."

Mary wasn't sure if she preferred the psycho-babble or the frank opinion from Shelley, but she didn't have to give her thoughts on the matter. She dabbed at her eyes, trying to see herself the way others did, trying to see the strong, independent woman Marshall had stuck with for so long. But, she didn't. She saw herself in this rut. Baby or no baby, she was still missing the key piece of the puzzle.

Shelley reclined back in her chair and crossed her ankles, apparently coming to a decision.

"Now…" her firm disposition changed almost at once. "You did good today, Mary. I think I'll cut our time short just for you. I'll come back next week and see how you're doing; give Stan a report then."

Mary was startled at the brisk return to the real world and flickered her eyelashes, trying to get a handle on it.

"But, what have you found out from this…?" she murmured, befuddled. "What can you possibly tell Stan that's going to go anywhere toward putting me back in the world with sane people?"

"I glean more than you think," Shelley declared with a roguish smile, completing her notes and rearranging her papers. "And, there's always next week. We'll see what needs to be weeded out."

This didn't sit well with Mary. She wasn't going back to the workplace with a feeling of relief or ease. She was more on edge than she'd been at the onset, and she didn't want the men to see that she'd been crying, although Marshall was surely used to it by now.

The weirdest sensation came over her. Now that she was expected to leave, she wanted to stay. She couldn't be left with these loitering images of her father. She'd really be treading water now.

"I-I dream about him…"

The words shot from her mouth like a gaggle of fireworks; there was no stopping them once the torch had been lit.

Shelley suspended her organizing, "About who?"

"The…my…"

What in the world was wrong with her? She was a catastrophe.

"The baby. A boy. I dream about him."

Shelley just nodded like this was perfectly natural, "Well, that's another day," she dictated. "For now, you are free to go."

Mary was the furthest thing from free, but what else could she do? She got to her feet, though her knees seemed to be knocking together, and made for the door in a kind of daze, wondering vaguely if Marshall was still watching them.

When she reached for the door handle, she heard Shelley's voice – inquisitive, almost prying.

"You said Marshall was the only one who knew you were pregnant?"

Mary nodded, "Yeah."

"And he's the one who took you to the doctor?"

"Yeah."

"Have you been talking to him…about all this?"

"Yeah."

"Is he seeing someone?"

For a split second, Mary thought Shelley was asking for herself, but there was an entirely different vibe emanating from the woman that said she was curious for someone else's benefit. For Mary's.

The stock-response still worked, "Yeah."

"Do you like her?"

Lying didn't help, "No." And then, "Why?"

Shelley gave her a superior smile and shook her head, just as a thunder clap sounded beyond the window.

"Just wondered," she shrugged. "See you soon, Mary."

XXX

**A/N: I can't pretend I know how a conversation like this would actually go. I am not a psychologist or anything close to it. But, this feeling of control and loss is what I wove Mary's story from, and I figure that Shelley, having been around Mary and knowing about James, would ascertain something similar (if that even makes sense). Also, the italics are obviously quotes that aren't mine, but quotes from the actual show, which I don't own!**

**Anyway, Shelley may have revealed a few things to Mary, but even she senses how Mary feels about Marshall running underneath!**


	30. Chapter 30

**A/N: Reviewers, you really are my saving grace. The joy you give me really is indescribable. I've wanted to be a writer since I was seven, and although I may have given up hoping to pen a novel, this is something that fills the void. Beyond the writing side of things, your kind phrases and compliments keep me up and running on a daily basis.**

**Anyway – enough schmaltz. But, when things aren't so great, I am always eternally grateful I have you guys. This is rather a big chapter, but I'm feeling a bit self-conscious about it so I hope you'll enjoy.**

XXX

The storm that rocked through Albuquerque that night was far worse than the one over the weekend. In fact, by comparison, it made the original look like a light mist. The rain pounded so loudly against Mary's roof it sounded like the house was being pelted with darts from a BB gun. Lightning and thunder crackled every few moments so that it was almost impossible for her to hear the television over all the noise. The lights continually flickered, as though unable to decide if they wanted to go completely out.

Mary couldn't help but be nonplussed when her doorbell rang through the racket. She couldn't fathom who would brave the gale to come to her house. Nonetheless, she discarded the book she'd been trying to read and scooped up Beatrix before going to answer. The kitten seemed frightened by all the clamor and had taken to mewing and tumbling over Mary's lap while she read.

When she wrenched the door open, it was to find Marshall standing on her stoop, a giant black umbrella held over his head. The wind was so strong, however, that it was close to being blown out of his hands.

"Hi…!" he called over the din.

"What are you doing out?" Mary asked, stepping aside and allowing him to drip over her threshold. She was careful to keep Beatrix sheltered in her chest away from the wet. "You're going to get yourself killed."

It took Marshall a moment to answer. He deposited his umbrella upside-down by the front door and shook out his hair like a dog, spraying both Mary and the cat with water. He then removed his jacket and hung it on the hook like he was planning to stay.

"It is quite a cacophony out there," he remarked casually, his eyes vivid with fervor. "It is like driving through puddles of soup; I assure you."

"Why were you out?" Mary repeated, for he seemed strangely unconcerned about the fact that he could've easily been in a wreck thanks to the weather. "Why are you here?" she scratched Beatrix's ears absently to try and quiet her squalling.

Marshall took note of this action and reached out to engage himself. He ran a large, tender hand over the cat's entire body, causing her to close her eyes and purr, although it was slightly more agitated than usual.

"I just…" he shrugged and gave up the ghost, leaving Beatrix to snuggle against her master. "I don't know. You seemed kind of upset after talking to Shelley. I wanted to make sure you were okay."

Mary arched her eyebrows, "You cheated death by coming out in this downpour just to make sure I'm not licking my wounds?"

"Well…" again, with the shrugging. "As you've said before, head-shrinking isn't something you relish. It can be tough on the first go-around. You were so quiet at the office. Did things go all right?"

Mary was still stuck on the fact that he would risk his neck to get to her and ask her such a simple question, but he seemed to have cast it aside. Motioning for him to join her across the room, she ventured back to her spot on the couch where Beatrix was digging her claws into Mary's top, poking tiny holes in the fabric.

"Well, if I didn't want to talk about it _then_, I'm pretty sure I don't want to talk about it _now_," she responded snootily, settling herself back on the sofa with Marshall at the opposite end. "You don't think once is enough for one day?"

Marshall couldn't legitimately argue with this, not if he wanted to keep Mary happy, but he _had_ come all the way through a storm. His discussion with Stan was fresh in his mind, and he thought if perhaps he could get Mary talking, he might be able to act on what his boss had decreed. He and Mary hadn't said much to each other all day, between the situation with Abigail and then Shelley on top of it.

"Shelley give you anything to chew on?" he inquired, expertly side-stepping her request that he leave it alone.

"Depends on what you mean by 'chew.'"

"Anything to ponder? Mull? Consider?"

"You and your synonyms," Mary sniped. And then, "Nothing I couldn't have figured out on my own if I cared enough to study my every move the way she does."

Marshall was sure this couldn't be true, and watched her continue petting Beatrix, moving her fingers over and over the tufty grey fur like there was nothing more important than keeping her content. It gave her an odd sort of maternal quality, creating a sanctuary from the ruckus beyond the window. He knew there was a reason he chose to see it this way.

"Care to share?" he finally posed.

Mary was pretty certain she'd just told him she was in no mood to swap stories. But, given all the trouble she'd caused for he and Abigail and that he'd obviously rather be here, with her, than with his envious girlfriend had her breaking a few barriers.

She grazed Beatrix harder, knowing her fingernails were digging in because she was nervous.

"She said it's a control thing. Big surprise, right?" she scoffed as if this was nothing to lose sleep over.

Marshall nodded and gave a noncommittal, "Hmm."

Mary knew he was trying to avoid agreeing or disagreeing, but chances were that he saw Shelley's point of view on this. So did Mary, she just didn't like having her father lumped into the whole thing. She didn't really see how the session had been of any assistance. She'd withheld the craziest parts of her current frame of mind – Jamie and her craving for motherhood.

"Did you feel this suggestion had any merit?" Marshall proposed in reference to the control, or lack thereof.

Mary concentrated on how much fur Beatrix was leaving on her shirt while the storm continued to lash against her windows and roof.

"I don't know. Doesn't everyone think I'm only happy if I can be in charge of everything and everybody?"

Marshall obviously picked up on the shame, "You mustn't make it sound like a bad thing," he cautioned. "You're self-governing and sovereign – independent."

"I used to be anyway," she commented under her breath. "You ought to talk to Abigail before you call me independent."

She felt a vicious sort of satisfaction in turning the tables on her best friend. She'd cornered him now. She'd managed to shift the conversation off her woes and onto something she wanted to talk about even less, but at least it didn't involve the addling of her brain.

Marshall gave a rather breathy sigh and fixed Mary with his light, acute blue eyes. He looked resigned, but somewhat forlorn as well. There was a kind of disgrace there that she rarely saw from Marshall.

"Well, I have talked to Abigail," he proclaimed steadily. "Looks like we're going to be taking a little break."

Mary's alarm mingled crudely with a kind of fury, not with Marshall, but with herself. One day, one visit, one mistake, and she was now spoiling his personal life as well as professional. His time, his arm, and now his girlfriend. She'd taken over.

"Jesus…" she shook her head and stood up, dumping Beatrix on the cushions. She gave a loud meow at a particularly strident rumble of thunder, but Mary ignored her. "Am…am I really such a disaster that you have to break up with your girlfriend for me?" her anxiety made her voice rise.

"I did not say break-up," Marshall waved an admonitory finger. "This is space – time. A breather to figure things out…"

"What is to figure out?" Mary thought she was very close to shouting now, her tone ringing amidst the crackles of lightning. "She's not going to feel any different with time. She wants me out of your life. I've monopolized your existence…"

"Mary, come on now…" he got to his feet as well, the paleness of his eyes turning steely. He extended the arm that wasn't bandaged and made to touch her shoulder, but for the first time in days, she jerked away. "We've been through this. My choices are my own. Any woman who would ask me to let go of you isn't worth having…"

In a flash, he remembered Stan – Stan's claims that he was in love with Mary. The seconds for brooding on this didn't last, because Mary had already interrupted.

"But, I am a _wreck_!" she exploded, matching the noise outside pound for pound. The lights sparked again, electricity crackling, but it stayed on. Beatrix gave a hiss. "You cannot devote your life to me and all my half-assed issues!"

Marshall's immediate thought was, 'why not?' but now wasn't the time to ask such a question.

"You are not a wreck; you're heartbroken and depressed…"

"It isn't going away!" she sounded pleading now, hands flying in front of her torso as though trying to throw everything within out into the open. "And if it's not going to go away, then I am not going to drag you down with me!"

"What makes you think I'm going 'down' anywhere?" he referenced, and this time he tried to take her hand. She yanked away again, thinking surely he'd get the hint by now. "The way you're reacting to the miscarriage doesn't make you lesser somehow…"

"Yes, it does!" Mary hollered, enraged by the way he was utterly unperturbed by her outburst. "It does!"

"Why?" Marshall beseeched in a hushed voice that held every sign of disbelief. "Why would you think that…?"

"I am not allowed to miss a child I didn't want!" she really felt like she'd made this point already; she didn't understand why she had to keep emphasizing it. "It is selfish as hell and if you had listened all the other times I tried to tell you this, you wouldn't keep asking!"

Mary began to feel very hot; she could discern the sweat seeping through her shirt. It reminded her of that morning, the morning this whole nightmare had started and she'd stood under the vent beside the window. It made her breaths quicken and her heart rate stutter painfully, like she could no longer inhale and exhale properly.

She fanned her shirt at the neck, "I am not a mother – I am never going to _be_ a mother! I wish everyone would get that idea in their head!"

Marshall wasn't willing to spin on this merry-go-round again. Stan had said that if Mary wouldn't spill her guts to Shelley that he was the next best option. From the sound of it, she'd only initiated midway and stopped before she got down to the nitty gritty.

"I wish you'd tell me why you think a baby isn't something you're permitted to wish for," he said quietly, telling himself with each word not to escalate an already tense situation. "You have as much right as anyone to want that. The miscarriage doesn't nullify such things," he suspected this had something more to do with fault.

"I _never_ said I wanted one!" his even demeanor had no effect on his friend, who kept right on bellowing. "Doesn't _anybody_ listen?!" her face was flushed but this time there were no tears; she was angry and finally ready to let loose. "Even if I did, this isn't a discussion I'm going to have with _you_."

Marshall was thrown by the accent on the final word, "Why not? You're my best friend."

"Because it's…it's…" there was no phrase strong enough. "What might you call it? The…" wracking her brains, she came up with the biggest, most pretentious word possible. "The _antithesis_ of appropriate, okay?"

Mary remembered him coining the remark when his father had been in town the year before. She'd liked the sharpness of it.

"It's not inappropriate…" he sounded aghast, eyes widening.

"Your _girlfriend_ would beg to differ!"

"Look at me, _now_…"

Marshall gripped her arm so hard she couldn't pull away no matter how she struggled, forcing her to stand still and face him. He saw rage distilling in her deep green eyes, not unlike the storm waging beyond their four walls. There was also a clue to her insecurity too; a clue to that trauma Stan had referenced.

She resisted, but he was stronger than she was, "Get off!"

He disregarded the protests and surged forward, "Abigail is not going to be my girlfriend anymore. She's not who I want to be with. Not…"

Despite the edgy stoniness of his unprepared confession, Mary was tougher than he'd calculated and she did manage to wrench away, flurrying backward on the hardwood.

"Jesus Christ!" she screamed. "You _just_ said you weren't breaking up! What is wrong with you? You don't think I'm confused enough already?!"

Beatrix emitted an agonized yowl that clearly said she was suffering greatly from all the turmoil. Mary huffed and stalked back to the couch, snatching the kitten with one hand. Now that she was moving, she saw no reason to stay and look at Marshall's hangdog.

"What you do with Nancy Drew should not be based on me!" she stomped back to her bedroom, thinking this would give him a clue to beat it. "I've had enough claptrap to contend with today, Marshall." She stopped in the doorway to find him right behind her, "I told you I didn't want to talk. Do you know how to leave it alone?"

Marshall watched her retreating back proceed into her bedroom where she clutched rather obsessively at Beatrix, smoothing her rumpled fur. For a moment he thought he could hear her muttering at the being as though to soothe her, but he couldn't be sure. Perhaps the tempest had both of them riled up.

"Where is this coming from?" there was disappointment etched in each letter, and he was right on Mary's heels, wondering vaguely if he'd been in her bedroom since the evening she'd been abducted three years before. "Why are you acting like this?"

Mary didn't grasp what he meant and whipped around right in front of her bathroom door. If anything, this query had incensed her further.

"Where is this coming from?!" she repeated frantically. "I'm pretty sure I've made my feelings about Abigail clear from the beginning – that's why she hates me, isn't it?"

"I'm not talking about Abigail…" a stable shake of his head. "I mean _this_," he gestured up and down her form. "This attitude. Before now you _wanted_ to talk to me – for the first time in ages…"

"Well, you've maxed out, all right?!" she was begging for him to leave; he was suffocating her; she gripped at Beatrix in an effort to maintain her balance, but it wasn't working. "Between you and Finkel and telling Stan I want to quit the Service…"

Horrible idea. Ghastly. She really was off the mark.

"You _what_?!" Marshall mislaid his unyielding clench on prudence and found himself standing nose-to-nose with his partner. "You tried to quit? Why?!"

"Because nobody needs a head case like me working in law enforcement! Why the hell do you think Stan wanted me to talk to Finkel?!"

"Because you're _miserable_ and he's worried about you – we both are…!"

"I don't need you to be worried about me!"

The most untrue words Mary had ever spoken. She'd never felt the effects that an accurate lie left behind, but it sent a bone-chilling tingle up her spine.

Swallowing her thirst for companionship, "I can take care of myself!"

Marshall had heard that enough times not to be fooled by it. It was Mary's trademark defense mechanism; the wall she threw up when she feared someone getting too close. He knew exactly why and exactly _who_ had brought that automatic resistance out in her. They were down to nuts and bolts here, and he was tired of allowing her to get away with it. He wouldn't allow her to revert. Not when they were this close to the center.

At least careful not to touch her, Marshall stood with his feet rooted firmly to the carpet, eyes bolstering a gaze on Mary. Her jaw had gone rigid in trying to get him to back away; the lines on her face taut.

"You don't have to take care of yourself. You're not seven anymore."

The notion that Marshall couldn't possibly know the sort of effect this would have on her never occurred to Mary. She was so appalled that he'd brought her father into it after the sort of day she'd had that she just started screaming – and once she started, she couldn't stop.

"Shut up! Shut the hell up! I am sick of this arrogant crap from you – you know everything about everything and what's right for everyone! Why don't you leave me the hell alone?!"

She didn't even hear his, 'Because…'

"You know _nothing_! You don't know _anything_ about what it was like when I was seven and you cannot sit here and pretend that you do!" her throat grew raw and sore, but she didn't let up. "You think that I'm trying to get rid of you because I'm worried you're going to ditch me the same way that my father did – well, I don't need you _or_ a shrink to tell me that!"

A wild wave of Mary's hand almost sent Beatrix flying across the room, but she hung on, thunder growling threateningly from above.

"You _all_ go eventually, all right? I don't have the patience for it! I'm better off by myself – that's why I don't have any friends; that's what my stupid sister would tell you!"

Now Marshall just stood there, watching her shout herself hoarse, watching her eyes popping and her face reddening the longer she spoke.

"I'm an egocentric, unfeeling bitch – take a census; I'm sure they'll tell you!" another untamed gesticulation. "That's why I can't and won't have a baby and _that's_ why I couldn't have Jamie!"

The look of her partially stunned best friend suddenly changed. Marshall's brows wrinkled and in the minimal absence Mary granted him to take a breath, he seized.

"Jamie?" he whispered in a small, tentative voice. "Who…who's Jamie?"

The air was heavy with Mary's gasping as she registered what had just dashed out of her mouth in her temper. She hadn't. Had she used his name? She'd been so caught up in shutting Marshall down she hadn't been thinking.

And now?

"I…I'm…" her timbre still unnaturally loud, but her passion much less strong.

"Is…is that James? Do you mean your dad?"

He thought he was providing assistance, but just the opposite. His bungle made a good excuse for Mary to mount her wrath again.

"Will you just leave me alone?!" she nearly used the same phrase as before in her desperation. "Get out! I asked you not to talk to me and you didn't listen!" she pointed her finger at the door, but the jig was up.

"I'm not going anywhere."

"Yes, you are!"

"I'm not leaving."

"GET OUT NOW!"

As Mary's pitch reached its highest level, a monstrous crack of lightning lit the room and the lamps sputtered, buzzing and surging in their sockets. With a fell swoop, all illumination was swept from the room, leaving both partners standing in total darkness.

Mary had every intention of herding Marshall to the door, but the lights going out was evidently the last straw for Beatrix, who yowled deafeningly and scrambled from Mary's arms, streaking off through the shadows.

"Beatrix!"

Abruptly, getting the animal back became vastly important. It was pitch dark and Beatrix was so tiny. Mary had been afraid of losing her, and now there was no telling where she'd go. She could just barely make out Marshall's silhouette in front of her before she actually gave him a hard shove with her shoulder, knocking him to the side as she bolted from the room in search of Beatrix.

"Beatrix!"

"Mary, hang on!" came Marshall's tone behind her. "You can't see where you're going!"

But, on she ran, her footfalls loud and thumping on the hardwood, fleeing the bedroom, fleeing her dreadful misstep in mentioning Jamie. She was blind in the shadows, floating through the stratosphere, and although scary it was better than the very authentic reality Marshall had been forcing her into.

"Find a flashlight and we'll look for her!"

Marshall was following her, but Mary didn't know where she was. Even the light from the window wasn't brightening the room enough for her to be able to tell.

"Quit running; you're going to…"

Too late. Mary, in her socks, was too clumsy and too preoccupied to think what she was sprinting on. The fabric slid on the slick wooden surface and she skated forward, just as the same foot caught something small and fuzzy. There was an ear-splitting meow from Beatrix and a just as raucous cry from Mary as she went sprawling forward in the blackness, not enough light and not enough wits about her to stem the fall.

"Mary?!"

Her right knee connected with the hardwood, making a sickening whack and causing a pain so throbbing Mary felt dizzy as she slumped to a heap on the ground.

But, it wasn't the discomfort that bothered her. The brief lapse from her shriek-fest had forced her to throw in the towel. She wasn't as menacing or as threatening as she'd tried to be, roaring at Marshall like he'd done anything wrong.

Hugging both knees in a defeated ball in the shadows on the pretense of easing her wound, the tears began to pour as fast as the rain outside. These were nothing like the tears she'd shed in the past week – they were not tears she was trying to hold back, tears of fright, or tears of frustration. They were not tears of perplexity or stress. They were the tears she should have allowed to fall all along.

Tears of sadness. Tears of loss. Tears for her Jamie.

She sounded like an injured animal by the time Marshall found her. He was only a voice and a pair of hands, but he found her.

"Mare, are you okay?" And then, "Where are you?"

Fingers fumbled the top of her head, bent over her knees. Groping like a blind man, Marshall moved from her head to her shoulder, steering his way onto the floorboards to join her. Up close, he was warm; a solid and sound body and the only noise was her plaguing sobs, leaking all over her jeans.

Crawling out of the fetal position, she felt for his chest and then, certain she'd discovered the spot, pulled him hard and fast into her arms, both of them hunched on the floor.

Marshall could feel her shaking all over, but he clung tight to her trembling frame. He knew it was coming, knew the time was near, knew he just had to wait…

And then, tortured and grief-stricken…

"I want to have a baby."

He closed his eyes. He squeezed her tight, just this bundle in the dark. He whispered.

"I know."

"Jamie was my baby…"

Thick and messy with tears, Mary spewed. Marshall gave a nod and rubbed her back.

"I know."

He knew _now_, anyway. Mary was really bawling now, energized by spilling it all on the floor, literally and figuratively. He caressed and held and kept her concealed within.

"Because of my dad…" And more despondent than ever before, "I miss my dad."

"I know."

This time, he lightly kissed the crown of her head, almost as he had done that fateful day when Jamie had gone; except it was her hair instead of her cheek this time. Mary felt the kiss linger on the strands, supple and tender; just a message from above.

"I've been having these ridiculous…stupid-stupid dreams…" a shuddering gulp from over Marshall's shoulder that made him knead her muscles rather than rub. "About this kid named Jamie, like I was his mother, like he was mine…"

Marshall's ever-sturdy reply wasn't going to work this time, as he hadn't known about this. Still, it explained the mystery of why Mary hadn't been sleeping normally, and his pity only intensified.

"He _was_ yours…" he offered instead. "And if you imagined him to fill a void in order to cope, then that's okay. We'll work on it…"

His voice carried like a soft breeze through the gloom and droplets beating against the house. It was as though it floated on leaves and flower petals; something Mary could catch and clasp in her hand if she cared to reach and snatch it tight.

But, she was too busy draped over Marshall's back to bother just now; she was nearly in his lap. Furthering the darkness, she tipped her head and pressed it against his shoulder, which he readily accepted. Whatever she needed, he held.

"Jamie will be yours forever," he promised when his friend's only answer was a stifled wail. "He isn't something you need to let go of in order to move on. He's a part of you that's here to stay."

Mary seemed to push tighter against him with this, hair cascading over her face and back, feeling safe only because Marshall was the one who kept her sheltered.

"You can have a baby," he believed stoutly, willing to say anything to get her to unearth herself eventually. "If that's what you really want, nothing will stop you."

Finally, there were words, "I don't know how to be a mother," muted inside his shirt.

"You would learn," Marshall persisted, graduating to patting her back. "I would say Beatrix is giving you pretty decent practice."

At the mention of her new companion, Mary finally surfaced, turning her head a fraction toward the front window. It seemed they were on the space of floor halfway between kitchen and living room. She rested her cheek in the high spot on his chest, tears glistening to match the sliding raindrops racing one another on the windowpanes. Through the merest sliver of light sneaking through the curtain, Marshall could make out her green eyes through the dusk, wide but relieved and drained from letting it flow.

"I didn't think I wanted to raise Jamie…" she murmured, deep and guttural but slightly clearer now that she'd lifted her face. "Is it fair that I only decided I wanted to after he was already gone?"

"Well…" Marshall went for honesty, stroking her blonde tresses; top to bottom, over and over, through and through. "He taught you something. He gave you a taste. He showed you something you probably wouldn't have realized otherwise," always the intellectual. "A blessing in disguise is not quite what I would define it, but just the same. You've learned that motherhood is something that would make you more complete. There is nothing unfair about that."

The thunderstorm carried on, as violent and thrashing as ever; the lamps stayed off and Mary sunk into a trance listening to the humdrum, contented and pacified by Marshall's fingers threading through her hair. In a back corner of her mind, she tried to take his words to heart, and also tried to forget they were really locked in one embrace on the floor. It was too nice, here with her ear to his beating heart, for her to want to move.

Eventually, he broke the lull, "What's Jamie like?"

Mary didn't have the energy to contemplate the absurdity of this question. She simply told her sorry tale.

"Sweet. Pure. Blonde."

"Blonde like you?"

"Lighter," she whispered. "White, almost. Like the moon."

"A towhead," he chuckled.

"I taught him to ride a bike. I fed him in the mornings. He learned to walk and talk."

She felt the sigh that passed through Marshall's frame, but his rebuttal was kind, "That's really nice."

Nice. Poignant. He never deemed it silly.

"He had blue eyes."

"Did he?" another flutter of lips on her skin, this time to her temple. "Mmm. Didn't your dad have blue eyes?"

"Yeah…"

Yes. Yes, he had. And so did someone else Mary knew.

Here, on the ground of her home, buckets slashing the glass and shingles, Mary spent a long, leisurely moment basking in the bliss and liberation she felt being wrapped in Marshall's arms. It was the only place in the last week where she felt she belonged, wholly and completely.

She remembered the originally faceless man from her subconscious, and knew that the time had passed for holding back.

"Marshall, I want to have a baby…"

And before the fourth, 'I know' could penetrate, she gave him the only truth she had left.

"And I want to have one with you."

XXX

**A/N: I think it was loyal Hannanball13 who guessed that with Stan having enlightened Marshall and Shelley having enlightened Mary that things were finally going to open up, and that they did. It may not be an, 'I love you,' but it's acting as the same in my mind. Hope you all liked it!**


	31. Chapter 31

**A/N: After the overwhelming love for the last chapter, I hope this one is just as good!**

XXX

It was a long night, but not long in the way that Mary would've usually viewed it. It didn't seem tedious or wearisome. On the contrary, when she found herself looking at the time on her phone, it was to be surprised that it was only ten o'clock – then eleven, and finally twelve. But, she didn't feel like the seconds were slipping away or even dragging on. Over and over, she was pleasantly boosted that it wasn't as late as she'd thought, and that she still had the whole evening ahead of her.

It didn't start out rosy. Given what Mary had blurted out to Marshall in her stupor, it didn't take long for her to become embarrassed. She eventually clambered to her feet and said she needed 'a minute.' At first, Marshall seemed concerned she was running again, but she wasn't. A minute was all she needed; to gather herself, to pull her feet back to the ground, to digest what she'd just said and how Marshall had seemed only vaguely bemused by it.

Therefore, she climbed upward, leaving her partner to track down Beatrix, and shuffled carefully to her bedroom to change out of her jeans and into pajamas. She stayed longer than she'd intended, mostly because it was hard to see what she was doing in the dark, but Marshall seemed to sense that the walls had been torn and left her be.

And then, as the hours passed and the downpour continued to penetrate, they just talked. Marshall unearthed some candles and lit them on the coffee table, giving the room a hush, cozy orb amidst the rain. He also scrabbled for some ice in the freezer that had not yet melted and bagged it for Mary to put on her bruised knee.

He sat on one end of the couch, Mary on the other, Beatrix rolling up and down their legs. Mary was quietly stunned by how easy it had become to confide in him. Admitting to wanting a child wasn't even why – it was because of who she wanted the child with. Now that it was out, there was nothing left for her to contain.

"So…" Marshall proposed after over an hour's worth of conversation. "Can we get back to something you kind of left hanging earlier?" they were both drinking hot chocolate even though it was June, and he took a long dreg with his eyes pointed upward.

"What's that?" Mary asked, copying him and sipping her own drink. Beatrix sniffed hopefully around the rim of the mug and Mary pushed her back, "None for you, Bean Brain."

Marshall choked on his beverage, "What did you call her? It didn't sound overly flattering."

"Bean Brain," Mary supplied with a giggle. "It suits her. Her brain's the size of a peanut, after all."

"Well, I prefer Beatrix," Marshall declared, coaxing the cat his direction. She gave up on Mary and crawled onto the man's chest, hoping for a lick. "Much more feminine."

"Marshall, she's a cat," his friend bleated with a shake of her head. "She doesn't know which end is up; let alone whether she's male or female."

"Anyway…" Marshall spoke over her, itching Beatrix's ears with the hand on his wrapped arm, so as to hold his cup with the other. "As I was saying. I wanted to get back to a topic of discussion on which you left me high and dry when I first arrived."

"We'll leave aside the subtle rhyming," Mary quipped. "I asked what you were talking about. I'm not a mind-reader."

When it came to Marshall, this wasn't exactly true, but she was still astounded that both of them had managed to sit speaking like this, avoiding the inevitable 'L' word, but acting on it just the same. Every part of their phrases and gestures said they knew how the other felt, but it was easier to dance around it than to pin a label on who and what they were.

"You made it sound like Shelley said you were having a hard time with the miscarriage because of control," he licked a stray drop of hot chocolate sliding down his mug. "Care to elaborate?"

Mary watched Beatrix nose her way into his clutches for a moment, mewing pitifully while she clawed his shirt. Marshall seemed to be enjoying the attention, and let her bump her tiny head against his chin as long as she wanted.

"Well, she didn't say _exactly_ what she meant," Mary clarified. "We never really got that far. But, the way I figure it…"

She recalled one of her original meetings with Finkel and the diagnosis she'd made then.

"_No matter how hard you try to prove you're a good girl – make everything right; solve every problem – your father's not coming back."_

"I can't be sure, but I thought she was connecting how I feel about losing the baby to how I felt about losing my father," Mary shrugged, running a finger around the mouth of her mug. "Since I couldn't control either of them."

"Would you agree?" Marshall queried, letting a smile escape when Beatrix almost landed her entire body in the hot chocolate. He pawed her away this time and settled her in his lap. "Or do you think it's something else that has caused you to be particularly hung-up on this? Not that miscarriage doesn't warrant hang-ups all by itself."

Mary, politely entertained by Beatrix's rough and tumble, also managed a smile, "I don't know. She's probably right. How I felt after losing Jamie really reminded me of how I felt when my father left."

"How so?" Marshall hunched his eyebrows.

Mary took a particularly large gulp of hot chocolate to give herself time to think. She also shifted her weight slightly, as the bag of ice was melting fast in the humid room, not to mention due to candlelight. Still, it was cold and did numb the pulsating of her knee, which was sure to be purple in the morning.

"After my dad abandoned me and Brandi and Jinx – I mean, after I was sure he wasn't coming back; after I stopped believing Jinx's stories that he'd turn up one day…"

"Right," Marshall urged.

"There was this…" her partner noticed her staring distractedly off into space, seeing the days of thirty years ago more clearly than ever before through the firelight. "This…emptiness. I felt so…bare, almost. It's like I wasn't whole anymore."

Marshall just nodded, a silent invitation for her to continue. And although Mary distinguished the usual sting that came with discussing James, it wasn't the same somehow. It was dulled; blunt and beating through a thicker skin than usual. She imagined Marshall had something to do with the edge being taken off.

"I mean, I know you think you know everything about me, Marshall…"

"Not true," he interrupted, raising a hand which accidentally swept Beatrix off his chest and down his legs. She rolled right back up and shook all over, prancing indignantly back to Mary. "I can only guess when it comes to James. He is hardly your favorite topic of discussion."

"Well…" she ignored him fairly easily. "I know he's a deadbeat – always was and always will be. But, for whatever weird reason, I was convinced he really loved me," an obligatory sip of hot chocolate in which she eyed Marshall quizzically. "I guess I'm still convinced."

"I don't think it was a matter of love," Marshall offered solicitously. "I'm sure he _did_ love you. Just, for whatever reason, he couldn't make the commitment he entered into by having children. He left you plenty to deal with."

"Hell if I know," Mary shirked off casually, taking another look to her bag of ice, which Beatrix was now examining curiously. "But, I feel like I had that same emptiness after I learned Jamie was gone," there was no sense pretending she hadn't given him a name now. "That same sense of betrayal, even though this time there was no one person that deceived me," Marshall could tell there was a lot of effort going into the operation to make this tale seem laid-back. "Or, I suppose that's what Finkel thought."

He bobbed his head, face leaning in and out of shadow, "Very perceptive of you."

Mary snorted, "Perceptive of Finkel, more like."

"Our minds are such a multi-faceted phenomenon," Marshall dictated with a reminiscent gleam in his eye, to which Mary groaned. "So fascinating that we often do not even know why we do what we do – why we feel how we feel. And yet the planets continue to spin and our conscious thinking…"

"Spare me," Mary pretended to gag on her hot chocolate. "Multi-faceted my ass. If I were on my usual game, I would've figured out way before Stan sent me to Finkel that James had something to do with this," slurping her tongue back in after pretending to be sickened by Marshall's babbling. "Hell, didn't I already? I unintentionally named the kid after him."

"That supports my 'often do not even know why we do what we do' point," Marshall retorted pompously. "See how that works?"

"Yeah-yeah…" Mary grumbled herself into nothingness, granting a moment to take pity on Beatrix and allow her to sample a few drops of hot chocolate.

They shared a laugh when the kitten obviously decided she didn't care for it. She wrinkled her nose and made a funny sneezing sound, pawing at her nose as though to rid herself of the taste. She sauntered back to the warm spot where Mary's and Marshall's legs intertwined on top of one another and settled down, probably for a nap.

"Can I ask you something?" Marshall proposed cautiously after a few minutes' distraction from the cat.

"Can you or may you?" Mary spouted obnoxiously, earning her a thoroughly impressed gaze from her best friend.

"Touché!" he trumpeted with delight. "It seems my intellectual argot has been rubbing off on you!"

Mary just rolled her eyes while he simmered down.

"All right. _May_ I ask you something?"

"Mmm hmm…" she granted, thinking she'd already doled out the sarcasm at the onset of the conversation.

"The dreams about Jamie…"

She hitched in downing the rest of her hot chocolate, both eyes and heart stopping momentarily, before she told herself this was okay. They'd been weaving in and out of the little boy all night, and she'd managed to keep cool. She could maintain.

"Hmm?" another hum to tempt him to go on.

"Did you like them?" the way he quirked one eyebrow was endearing. "Or did they bother you?"

Mary felt it would be too strange to say 'both' but that was how she viewed them. She got the same squirmy feeling when she thought of seeing Jamie, and yet she'd been desperate to get back to him; to succumb to sleep and allow him to take her away. To convince her she _could_ be a mother, if only in her own mind.

"Well, it's not like they were real," she settled on. "Does it matter one way or the other?"

"I must admit I am fairly curious," to Marshall, it did matter. "Since this was something you obviously felt you could not tell me."

Mary heaved another sigh, so large it made Beatrix open her eyes just as she was getting down to her nap. She ought to have known. Marshall was too smart for his own good.

"Did you tell Shelley?" he pressed.

Mary shook her head, "No." But then she remembered, "Well, actually I did. Right before I left. I don't know why. I hadn't planned on telling her."

"Why not?"

She absently ran her fingers through her hair, making her bangs sweep over her head, pulling out the waves and seeing the strands slip through her knuckles to lie back upon her chest. The answer to this question really was not complex. She didn't have to make it so.

"Well, because it's…weird, isn't it?" she crinkled her nose to indicate this. "It's creepy…"

"Creepy is a tad strong…"

"But it's still eerie – outlandish or something, right?" she simplified. "Why would I focus on something like this? Not just focus – fixate. Whether I like it or not is kind of immaterial, Marshall," she gave Beatrix a quick pat. "I became pretty obsessed with him, so I guess you can be the judge of whether or not that constitutes 'like.'"

"So, you were embarrassed?" Marshall dug deeper. "You didn't think it was normal?"

"Still don't."

"You don't think it was just a way to relieve yourself of all the pain you were experiencing by not having a child in the here and now?" he hypostasized swiftly. "A child you never got to know? A child and a family you've never really had? Not with the chaos James left you."

Mary was fully aware that the mention of her father was yet another link between him and the baby, but her ears had actually attracted the dropping of the term, 'family.' She hadn't yet said that there was a man in her dreams too. A man whom she had been unable to indentify at first but had rapidly turned into the one sitting right in front of her.

"If you say so," Mary shrugged just as another rumble of thunder shook the walls in the ongoing torrential downpour. The candles flickered slightly in their stubs, casting Marshall's face in a sort of two-way mask with the shadows darting on and off. "But, I still don't get where my sudden thirst for a kid comes from. Seriously, I _never_ thought I wanted children. Never."

"Well, that's just it isn't it?" he had the answers for everything, moving his stitched arm to rest across his middle now that Beatrix was gone. "You didn't _think_ you wanted children. But, when presented with the opportunity you realize you feel differently."

"So, I only want something when I know it's impossible to attain," Mary concluded sourly. "How mature of me."

"No, there are a lot of situations like that," Marshall assured her. "You need that first savoring – that first spark into something new; the possible tomorrow. You can't always know what's around the corner until you make the leap."

"You and I both know that doesn't do much for me," Mary reminded him. "I don't 'leap' until I've got the whole field laid out in front of me, ready for battle."

"Maybe you need to entertain the possibility of risks then," he suggested almost brazenly, flashing her a smug smile. "Risks in your personal life, rather than professional."

"Thanks for the assessment, Freud," she retorted, drinking from her mug mechanically even though there was nothing left to drink. "I suppose you'll be the first one who wants me to try that."

"Well…" Marshall gave her a shrewd, devious look. "When you admit to wanting to have my baby, I have to say that I do wonder about aspects of your personal life that I never did before."

Damn, Mary thought. They were back where they'd begun. She couldn't really have expected it not to present itself. It was an insane concept, of course. She still couldn't believe she'd uttered such a thing; it was so immensely unlike her. Marshall seemed almost amused by it, which Mary didn't understand either. They still had Abigail to contend with, after all.

"Awfully forward of you," he stated in a low voice meant to break the ice. "Although, not really. You waited almost ten years. Why not make a bold, brash move once you finally decide to crack out of the box…?"

"All right, all right…" Mary slashed his self-satisfaction in two. "Look who's talking. I haven't seen you jumping up and down professing your undying…"

She stopped unintentionally. She still didn't have the clout to say the word. Marshall looked a little stunned himself by the way she'd reversed the coin and set his cup to the coffee table, hands free. Beatrix started when he moved, but curled back into her little ball on his knee without a second thought.

"What would you call it, exactly?" Mary knew it was her turn to rupture the hush, especially since she saw Marshall lose his bearings so infrequently. "I mean, I leap right in and say I want to have your kid – there's no mystery how I feel," she too deposited her mug to the table. "What about you?"

The firelight flickered across his face again, illuminating the bristles of hair across his chin, catching his pale eyes, which were rather pensive at the moment. He seemed to be thinking hard.

"I didn't really picture this conversation happening quite like this," he whispered through the darkness. "I envisioned it a little more, I don't know…" he intertwined his fingers in his lap. "Perfect."

"Perfect," Mary grunted. "There's no such thing. Trust me, this is better. We're avoiding the awkwardness…"

"Well, I don't know about that…"

"If we talk about it like its normal, then maybe it will be. Maybe the fact that we've been hot for each other since day one won't seem so wacky…"

"Day one?" Marshall laughed loudly, stirring Beatrix again. "I can only speak for myself here, but it was hardly from day one."

"No, me neither," Mary giggled as well as she examined her chipped nails for something to do. "I definitely had to get used to what a prissy girl you are."

"And I your cantankerous attitude," he tilted his head in a mock-bow. "But, after you moved here and started sharing the desk across from mine…"

Mary sensed corny reminisce coming on, "Marshall," she blinked at him, slowing him down, making him halt. And then, "When?"

The only sound was the pattering of the rain, plink-and-plunk on the window. Mary could feel Beatrix breathing even though she was on Marshall's leg; the serene up-and-down of her tiny body. It was one of the first times she could remember where the quiet didn't prompt anxiousness. It was anticipatory. Almost ravenous.

"It wasn't one moment…" Marshall began in a strangely ethereal tone that mingled nicely with the warbling yellow glow. "I don't know. Do you remember when I was shot and I told you I felt like you were this exotic animal I had to tame?"

Mary only nodded, not wanting to interrupt.

"It's kind of like that," she'd never heard Marshall speak so close to the heart like this, without his usual academic spin. "I've always felt like there's this mystery about you. This sort of ambiguity…"

That was because she made herself hazy on purpose, Mary thought, but she kept quiet.

"There's this exterior you show the whole world; tough and rugged; strong and sturdy. I love that. I love that lioness part of you…"

Mary was lucky it was dark, or he'd have seen her start blushing.

"But, I've always felt that there's this other part too," he murmured, still sounding faraway. "This part that's just for me – where you let your guard fall down and give it to me straight, whether it's acidic or not…"

She was biting her lip now.

"Those times where you've let me glimpse what's underneath the tiger have been like tearing the bow off the box; I can't wait to see what's inside. I've never known anyone where I am so satisfied with the steely external armor, and yet still so surprised every time I discover there's more within," he was staring right at her now. "I love tearing the paper off every day; the idea that every new dawn could bring something else to learn about you that I love is thrilling," a tiny sigh. "I've never loved anyone else like that before."

Mary thought sure her face was flaming more than the candles, and was certain the telltale sting of tears would follow, but none came. She was just so awed; so blown away by hearing herself described as so wholesome. The fact that there was anyone on earth who felt so strongly floored her. She'd always suspected Marshall's feelings for her, but had been too afraid to confront it. She'd never assumed this.

"So, is that…" he let out a nervous chuckle, nuzzling Beatrix's back with his palm. "Does that win a prize for corniest speech ever?" he obviously thought she was going to mock him.

But, Mary had no intentions of orchestrating anything of the kind.

"No…" she whispered just as softly as he. "It's nice to hear. I wish you'd told me a long time ago."

Her goal was not to make him yearn for lost time, but he averted his eyes in ignominy just the same.

"So do I," he admitted. "I just…" there was no finish to that. "Insecurity. I didn't want to lose you."

"Makes two of us," Mary said to make him feel better. "Maybe it's actually a good thing we waited this long," she suddenly changed her mind. "For all I know, I could've only started warming up to you since this whole Jamie thing," she shrugged. "Stuff like love tends to take me longer."

She tried to heedlessly throw off that little four-letter-word; to make it seem as offhand as possible. She even yanked Beatrix from her resting position and cuddled her against her chest, eliciting an irritable meow from her little friend. She was doing all she could not to appear skittish about the entire ordeal and it didn't come naturally to her.

Marshall didn't acknowledge the mention, but he did divert the focus, "I took my lumps here with proclaiming my affection," there was a tight persona to his voice that convinced Mary perhaps his own dialogue had choked him up. He buried it, "You want to enlighten me on where this, 'I want to have your baby' business came from?"

"Never gonna let that go, are you?" Mary shook her head, the kitten digging her nails as well as her teeth into her pajama top.

"It is rewarding to have something to dangle over your head like the proverbial carrot."

"Look, it's not really what I meant," she tried to back away; to downplay the line she'd sobbed because she'd been so consumed in her own distress. "I was chattering on like some drunken…"

"You sure know how to make a guy feel exceptional," Marshall slid in neatly.

"Listen," she snapped sharply, wanting to make her intentions perfectly clear, even if she couldn't be certain what they consisted of right away. "My reasoning isn't going to be nearly as flowery as yours. In fact, it'll be pretty lame by comparison, okay?"

"I doubt it, but go on."

The way he just sat there after having unabashedly declared his everlasting adoration of her was remarkable. How did he do it? How did he stay so calm? Although he'd tripped over the phrases in the beginning, the same level-headed Marshall was still there – able to explain his innermost feelings just like they were a witness or a particularly compound case.

"Marshall, I love you because I trust you," Mary blurted out something less than poetically. "I don't know where or when it went beyond partnership, but it did. Like I said, maybe not until recently," it made her feel more secure to act so slapdash about it. "I don't pay attention to that sort of thing like I'm sure you do."

He sanctioned a nod, "I see."

"Trust probably doesn't seem like the same thing as love – and I don't even want to use that word," she frowned. "It's such a cliché – _love_," emphasizing to make it appear particularly dim-witted. "But, trust is everything to me – has been since I was seven. Sure, I trust Jinx and Brandi more than I used to, but not like…" she took her turn at swallowing the tears. "Not like I trust you."

"You have your explanation and I have mine," Marshall seemed to get it. "There is no better or worse on why. We're in the here and now, ready to move forward with whatever the future brings."

Mary wanted to make something plain, "That baby comment…" she grumbled with a hint of shame. "It was an _eventually_ sort of thing. If it works out. That's all."

Marshall grinned, "I understand," he always did. "We can go slow. Whatever feels right, you know?"

"Yeah…" she nodded steadily. "Yeah. I know."

There was still Abigail to work out, after all. Mark. Visions of Jamie that still loitered. They could wake up tomorrow and find that they'd made a grisly mistake but somehow, Mary didn't think so. For the first time since she'd miscarried, there was a part of her life that felt cemented and solid; a part that could, potentially, last forever. If there was such a thing.

"I'm in this for the long haul, partner," Marshall concluded to reply to Mary's agreement. "It's nice to know that you can trust that."

And while Mary had no qualms about that portion of her existence; the portion that told her she could depend on Marshall through and through, it wasn't until she woke the following morning that it truly solidified in her otherwise muddled brain.

It must've been just after daybreak when she opened her eyes to find that the rain had subsided. A thin, pink and diluted mist was hanging as though by puppet strings out her front window. The air seemed slight, like you could catch the wisps of cloud and blow them like dandelion seeds through your fingers. The candles the two of them had extinguished before sleeping lay guttered in the wax; dull and grey against the backdrop of the kitchen.

Mary woke with a momentary sense of disorder, uncertain about where she was and why she was huddled so tightly against another breathing being. Her legs were curled up against the end of the couch, crunched at odd angles to fit. But, her arms were splayed almost above her head, clinging to something. Something warm and strapping and sheltered.

A few flutters of her eyelashes showed her the rest of the picture. She was sprawled next to Marshall on the sofa, her head on his chest. She'd been gripping at his shoulders, her head under his chin. She felt bleary and blurry, and yet the fog was welcoming; almost inviting. She exhaled slowly through her nose with every objective to close her eyes once more and drift back into oblivion.

Then she heard Marshall groan contentedly from above her, meaning he was awake too. Unexpectedly, she felt him drop a kiss on the crown of her head, familiar to the one he'd left the night before.

Turning her head ever so slightly, Mary blinked up at him and grinned softly. For a moment, she'd thought he wasn't real; thought she was caught in another alien world with a fuzzy husband and her Jamie. But no, this was genuine, fully existent, and perhaps the reason Jamie had not visited her dreams over the thunderstorm.

Marshall kissed no other part of her, but Mary heard his throaty voice as she shifted deeper into his embrace.

"We don't have to call it love," he droned slowly and sleepily. "We don't have to call it anything."

Mary smiled again, hearing the steady beating of a heart beneath his ribs.

"Who needs labels?" she mused softly. "We've got a lifetime to figure it out."

XXX

**A/N: I know a lot of you were anticipating this chapter, and I decided to take it a very casual route. I feel like Marshall and, especially Mary, would act on the unspoken – they both know how they feel without having to say the words, although I have Marshall doing as much. The love is there, if not specifically outlined.**

**Also, I had a reviewer comment that Albuquerque doesn't get thunderstorms! I had no idea, but I thank you for the insight! I had another reviewer message me when I was posting another story that they don't have lightning bugs either. I like using the imagery of both so much I'll likely keep doing it – creative license has become my middle name! (But I was not at all offended by the tidbit!)**


	32. Chapter 32

**A/N: As some of you might have guessed, things are going to start looking up for our happy pair!**

XXX

When Mary and Marshall walked hand-in-hand through the glass double doors on Thursday morning, it was to eccentrically raised brows from Delia, and a patronizing smirk from Stan. Neither said a word, however. It seemed their suspicions had been wholeheartedly confirmed. Mary still didn't have a brand to pin on whatever she and Marshall were, which gave her an excuse not to discuss it with anyone. She just knew she liked feeling him squeeze her palm before sitting down at his desk, and her being able to press back without reservations.

Although the morning was scarcely different from any other at the Sunshine Building, something seemed to have altered in Mary's mindset overnight. She knew it was illogical to think she could make a turn-around so quickly, but the feeling that she didn't have to release Marshall amidst the bumps and bruises made it much easier to navigate. She'd barely given Abigail a second thought, but judging by Marshall's words the night prior; they had been on their way out anyway.

In any case, both of them had more to contend with than their own twisted love life. When Mary's cell rang around ten o'clock, she didn't have to guess who it was. Somehow, she answered and agreed to lunch with Mark, as his plane had touched down late the night before. Upon hanging up, she saw Marshall towering above her desk, a quizzical gaze on his face.

"The ex?" he questioned astutely.

Mary waggled her phone grimly, "Mine, not yours."

"What is the arrangement?"

A sigh, "Lunch. I don't believe him," though she attempted to come off snide, she didn't quite make the leap. "He's been in town all of two minutes and can't keep his hands off."

"You detected…attraction?" Marshall swallowed rather distinctly; Mary could see the lump go down his throat.

She grinned at his sudden frankness in asking something like this, "No, Mr. Over-Sensitive," she mocked. "I'm not your property, by the way; let's make _that_ clear up front."

"Noted."

"It's just Mark," she shrugged. "He's flirtatious; always has been. Have to learn to roll with the punches," she didn't seriously think he was trying to bag her, despite his magnetism.

Covertly, Marshall glanced over his shoulder, though there was no real need now that Stan and Delia were heads-up on just about every detail of their private life. Except the one that had come about the night before.

"What are you thinking?" he mumbled under his breath. "You gonna tell him?"

Mary mulled only for a minute, trying to work out the best way to announce this indifferently. She didn't need Marshall going to pieces over her and Jamie and Mark's reaction.

"Probably," she pretended to be looking for a file on her desk. "I think."

Marshall didn't lose his marbles, but he did jump on the opportunity to assist in whatever way possible. He spread his hands over her desk and learned forward, chin casting a shadow on the wood.

"Do you want me to come with you?"

Mary should've expected this; should've expected his need to come to the rescue, but somehow she hadn't. That meant she was going to have to do some quick thinking on what to tell him.

"I'm not sure…" she landed on, which didn't require that she be fast on her feet at all. "Does this require an usher?"

"I could wear a tux, if you like," Marshall joked, clearly picking up on the word 'usher.'

"Yeah, you in a monkey suit," Mary retorted. "Fitting, somehow."

"Let me know, won't you?" he requested, skating over her little jab and getting back to the point.

Mary nodded her agreement, "Yeah, I will."

Fortunately, she didn't have to decide right that minute if she wanted Marshall to accompany her, because there was a loud knock on the on the glass across the room. Both of them glanced up, not accustomed to the sound, and saw their witness from the week prior waving behind the clear sheet. Katherine, long brunette hair tied in a ponytail today, was balancing baby Penny on her hip, looking eager to be let in.

"What's she doing here?" Mary asked, sincerely curious and not fearful, even when it came to Penny.

"Oh, I forgot…" Marshall shot his desk a glance, like his was reminder was lying on a note somewhere beneath his papers. "What with being out on Tuesday, it completely slipped my mind. I asked Katherine if she'd stop by so we can regroup on how she's getting settled – look into some job prospects."

"How'd she get up here, though?"

"I buzzed her in…" Delia entered into their midst, tottering across the room and going to allow Katherine admittance. "I'll just leave her to you two, unless you'd like me to pick up where we left off with that MOU?"

"No, thanks," Marshall nodded. "We've got it from here," he assured her as she slid her badge in the slot and relieved Katherine of knocking and waving. Turning to Mary, "You up for sitting in?"

And for the first time in a week, Mary could honestly bob her head and stand up, rising with poise to report, "Sure."

She trailed behind Marshall as he and Katherine exchanged pleasantries. The witness didn't seem to notice Mary. She had, of course, been very quiet and guarded on their last visit. Perhaps she thought this was typically the way she operated. Mary couldn't help hoping she would give her something of a surprise.

Mary seated herself beside Marshall on the end of the conference table closest to the door where they usually met with witnesses. Katherine got herself settled opposite them, allowing pretty and bald Penny to crawl around atop the table. Absurdly, the little girl reminded Mary of Beatrix and the way she roamed the furniture at home. It made her smile.

"So…" Marshall decided to start the flow of conversation, taking the lead from his partner. "How are you getting along so far, Katherine? It can be very thorny for witnesses to begin anew. Don't feel badly if you are having a hard time adjusting. That's what we're here for."

Again, Mary was struck by the similarities to her own situation when Marshall spoke to the young lady. He always promised the security of one's feelings and hardships, swearing his own loyalty in the process.

"It's going really well, actually…" Katherine shared with a slightly nervous giggle. "Is…is that weird? I mean, I kind of feel like I should be hating it more after what you just said…"

"Not at all, not at all!" Marshall practically boomed his approval. "I'm delighted. You're settling in nicely, then?"

"Well, I shouldn't make it sound like its perfect or anything," Katherine clarified. "But, the house you all arranged for me is super nice," she enthused, a comment that made her sound like Brandi, and that reminded Mary she was as young as she looked. "In Chicago, I never would've been able to get a place like this one."

"We'll soon be helping you acquire employment so you can work your way off the stipend," Marshall explained. "But, with your background and skill set, I'm sure we won't have any trouble finding you work."

"What did you do back in Illinois?" Mary interjected as a contribution, leaning over Marshall's elbow to see if he had her file open, but it was spread to a page of numbers; nothing about jobs.

Katherine went unexpectedly pink, "I've had quite a few jobs. It was hard, in my old suburb, to hold a steady one, so I bounced around a lot. I had to keep working in order to provide for Penny…" she gestured at her daughter with a fond look.

Penny herself was scooting on her butt across the table, bunching the pair of jeans she wore as bottoms. Mary had no idea they made such a staple article of clothing so small, but they looked just like her jeans – only without the boot cut.

"Is she okay up there?" Katherine suddenly wanted to know, breaking her story about her various occupations.

"She's fine," Marshall grinned watching the child.

"Well, anyway…" their charge picked up her thread quickly. "Like I said, I had to be ready to learn anything, but mostly I worked in daycare centers or preschools. I always wanted to be a teacher, but my parents didn't have the money to send me to school, and once I got pregnant…" she hunched her shoulders sheepishly. "That seemed the next best thing. I also waitressed on the side, but I figure everybody has to pay their dues there at some point."

"I don't know…" Marshall sent a wily smile at Mary. "You ever bus tables, Mare? Doesn't seem your thing."

"Straight to the Service," Mary lied through her teeth, knowing she had indeed done her fair share of restaurant work after her father had left. "Only one destination for yours truly," she grinned back at her friend, knowing that in truth that was _his_ experience not hers, having come from a long line of Marshals.

Katherine interrupted their byplay as Penny inched herself almost to the edge of the table on Mary's and Marshall's side.

"But, when I was still with the Marshals in Chicago, they said something about my maybe not being able to work with kids anymore…" she vocalized uncertainly; it was obviously taking some daring for her to bring this up. Perhaps she thought they would forget if she kept silent. "Something about it being…?"

Her tone petered out, her eyes scanning Mary and Marshall back and forth, waiting to hear her verdict. Marshall flipped idly through her papers briefly to see if he could find some evidence to her claim, but Mary could tell at once he didn't seem bothered.

"It is possible they thought it would be too close of an identifier to the dealers that found out you went to the police," he detailed slowly. "But, I don't see anything here that indicates they had any knowledge of your occupation. I'll look into it, but I don't think it'll be a problem."

Katherine brightened at once; "Really?" she breathed an audible sigh of relief. "I mean, I would've taken whatever I could get, obviously; I'm used to it. It's just…"

"I understand," Marshall guaranteed. "One's existence is so much more fulfilling when you are able to engage in your true passion."

"Yeah…" Katherine couldn't help herself from laughing at his fancy verbiage, especially when she caught sight of Mary rolling her eyes. Clearly thinking it was safe to propose a joke, "Does he always talk like this?"

Mary nodded slowly, blowing obnoxiously out her mouth to indicate that Marshall was tiresome, "Practically twenty-four-seven. Some of us have developed an immunity," she clapped him roughly on the back.

Katherine chuckled again, just as Marshall shot Mary quite a significant look. Under every day circumstances, he would think her abrasiveness was to be avoided, but today he knew what it really meant. Slowly but surely, she was weaning herself back into her former reality. Although he knew his mere and resolute presence in her life couldn't erase the hurt caused by Jamie, she was obviously boosted that she had a sturdy being to rely upon. One she didn't have to let go of.

"You guys are…partners you said, right?" Katherine tried to remember watching this interaction.

"Going on nine years," Marshall reinforced with a hint of pride. "Someone has to keep her highness over here in check," he gave Mary a pat of his own.

At that moment, Katherine still apparently marveling at the pair of them, Penny seemed to reach her intended destination. She halted her nudging and pitched forward onto her knees like she was about to crawl. However, she was so close to the edge of the table that she reached out and swiped at the surrounding air, gabbling incoherently all the while.

Katherine gave a girlish sigh, "Penny, baby…" she apparently thought she was in the way, but Mary had become quite interested in what the child was after.

"What do you see?" Marshall crooned, hitching his chair closer to Mary's.

His presence didn't seem to distract Penny at all. She flexed her fingers gradually and then extended them to grab hold of Mary's chest – or what she thought was her chest. She was caught off guard at first, but something about Penny's innocent curiosity kept her from viewing this scene as potentially harmful to her already baby-devoid existence.

Katherine laughed again, "She must like you. She's very friendly…"

But suddenly, with a pinching, choking sensation around her throat, Mary realized it wasn't _her_ Penny was drawn to.

"I think it's my necklace she likes," Mary sputtered and without thinking, she closed her own long fingers around Penny's chubby ones to pull them loose. "Can't beat that shiny and sparkly, I guess."

As a precaution, she unwound the band from around her neck and let the latch go, allowing it to spool on its chain into her palm.

"Well, if she doesn't try to eat it, she'll destroy it, so if it's at all important to you, I'd stash it out of sight," Katherine advised.

Mary became engrossed momentarily with the detail on the necklace – a gift from her father with the Virgin Mary etched in the gold medallion. It was scuffed and almost rusted, having been worn every day since he'd given it to her. Pretending to heed Katherine's advice, she slipped it into her pocket, but was beginning to think that was maybe the best place for it after all this time.

Penny seemed to frown at its disappearance, her cheeks looking pudgier than ever. She contented herself with picking at the yellow T-shirt she had on, patting her fingers on her round belly.

"Do you think Penny is enjoying the change of scenery?" Marshall posed, which Mary would've classified a ridiculous question had she been paying more attention, but she was fast becoming immersed in the little girl.

"I doubt she knows Chicago from Albuquerque," Katherine disclosed. "But, like I said, the house is great. I think she's maybe starting to walk, and she has so much more room here than in our old apartment."

"Ah, ahead of the game, is she?" Marshall said with an air that he was struck by this bit of information. "You said she wouldn't be a year until September?"

"Yeah…" Katherine shrugged. "But, she's trying to pull up with the furniture, you know…"

The witnesses' voice seemed to fade into oblivion then, only muffles and buzzing in Mary's ears. She was too busy taking in every facet of Penny plopped right in front of her – facets she'd been too sorrowful to notice when the pair had visited the week prior.

For instance, even though her head was bald as all get-out, there were strange bumps here and there where hair hadn't grown in. Did everyone have those lurking underneath that locks usually concealed? Her fingernails were miniscule; the size of a kernel of corn, and boasted quite a bit of dirt, like she'd been playing at a park. Her sunny T-shirt could've been a blanket for Beatrix, and Mary was still confounded at a pair of jeans so tiny.

The child emitted a soft coo, almost like she was about to smile, but a look of befuddlement came over her round face.

"What's up?" Mary whispered, glad she could go unnoticed by Marshall and Katherine, who were deepening into their conversation.

Her only answer was another tut, and then Penny began to slap her sticky hands against the glass table. Mary glanced that direction, wondering what this could possibly be about.

"Come on runt; what's the deal?" said with as much affection as she could rally.

A whimper this time, more agitated, and with another couple of glimpses, Mary suddenly realized what her newest, youngest witness was fixated on. Penny could see her reflection in the glass, and was becoming increasingly annoyed that she couldn't figure out where the picture came from.

"Hey Penny…" Mary hissed with a manner of starkness. "That's you, goofy. See?"

The inspector danced her nails across the surface, skittering all over Penny's likeness. For a second, this only aggravated her further, until Mary reached up and touched her nose, trying to connect the Penny in the class to the Penny sitting on the table.

"That's you, bald one…"

Penny blinked blankly, giving Mary a look that was uncanny to the ones she sometimes gave Jinx. It was a look that plainly said, 'Who do you think you're fooling?' Mary hadn't known a child so small could make such a face.

"I'll prove it…" she declared. Leaning out of her seat slightly, she made sure she could catch her own reflection without the glare from the window and then used it as her aide. "See, there's me."

With much more finger waving, she attempted to establish this for Penny, who stared intriguingly for a moment, her giant blue eyes more encircling than ever. She looked at Mary, then back at the table, as though to confirm.

And then, without any warning whatsoever, she let out a shrieking, squealing laugh that made Mary jump back into her seat. She had become completely unaware that Marshall and Katherine were still in the room, and she laughed too, astonished that something so simple could please this kid so much.

"Pretty snazzy, huh?" Mary questioned as Penny continued to giggle and point feverishly at her own face. "There's two of you. Well, if there's gonna be two of anybody, I guess it ought to be someone like you."

An instinct Mary didn't know she possessed had her reaching out and running her hand over Penny's smooth head; soft to the touch and beautiful, hair or no hair. She didn't seem to take any notice as the Marshal simply stroked; front to back, over and over. It was intuition.

Intuition. Instinct.

"What are we doing over here?" a voice suddenly interrupted her triumph; a happy, exultant voice.

Mary turned slowly to face Marshall, not entirely ready to give up her seconds of peace just yet. But, when she saw his glowing face, she couldn't help but think the real world wasn't so bad, even compared to her flash of tranquility.

He visibly thought she would back down upon being caught; that all those old feelings she'd had only yesterday would come rushing back. But, when he saw that she was all right, that she was dealing, he gave her the seconds she needed to float back into their midst.

"She's all hopped up because she can see herself in the glass…" Mary directed this remark mostly at Katherine.

"Oh yeah, she cracks up every time she figures that out," the mother affirmed. "She loves to look in the mirror at home. It'll entertain her for hours."

"I guess sometimes simplest is best, huh?" Mary said quietly, more to herself than to Katherine.

Before she could garner a response to this, the conference room door opened and Delia stuck her head in. Mary thought there must be a call for her or Marshall, but not this time.

"Katherine, Chief McQueen wanted to speak to you for just a second…" she announced, her head still through the frame. "Nothing serious; just wanted to verify something in your police report. The Chicago D.A. is on the phone."

"Oh, okay…" the woman agreed. And then, turning to Mary and Marshall, "Could you watch Penny for just a second?"

It was Marshall who responded, "We'd be glad to. Take your time."

She went on her merry way, not before dropping a kiss on her daughter's head before departing, taking Delia with her. It was silent for a moment in her absence, the only activity Penny sprawling onto her belly and perhaps attempting to lick her reflection like a dog. Mary ignored this for the most part, knowing some sort of praise was coming from Marshall any minute.

He didn't disappoint.

"You did good, partner."

Mary's first thought was to take a shot at his grammar, but she held back. She was too busy thinking as she watched this child mingle among them that maybe, just maybe, someday this could be possible. It might be a long time down the road still. She might be getting ahead of herself, considering her and Marshall had only started taking themselves to the next level the night before. But, this could still be proof. Proof she had an attainable goal – that she wasn't going to shy away from the possibility of motherhood.

"I'm no mom," she said anyway, downplaying her thoughts.

"You could be," Marshall reminded her. "Someday. Between Penny and Beatrix, you'll be an old pro by the time that day arrives."

Mary scoffed, "Please. I've had the cat for four days and spent time with this rug-rat twice," she indicated Penny. "I don't think that puts me at professional status."

"Well…" Marshall hesitated, but Mary didn't think it was because he was choosing his words carefully.

There was a certain sensual quality to his voice that made her tingle from her hairline to her toenails and every inch in-between. When he slipped his arm around her back and slunk closer, she knew there was more to his next words than reassurance.

"If _I'm_ the one deciding whether or not you're qualified to become a mother…" he whispered huskily. "Professional class is not required."

"So I can be an amateur, huh?"

"You can be whatever you want…" he intoned. And then, "No labels. Remember?"

Mary chuckled as she felt the kiss on her temple, "I remember."

XXX

**A/N: It is with great regret that I confess this story will soon be wrapping up. There are three more chapters to come, and then we say farewell. I can't tell you how much I will miss your reviews!**


	33. Chapter 33

**A/N: I am astonishingly close to 300 reviews, but I couldn't ask for any more than I have right now! You all have totally surpassed any expectation I ever had and gone far beyond!**

XXX

Sitting across from Mark in a sticky booth, the plastic hard and unforgiving on her ass, Mary looked into the eyes of a man who was clearly feeling a countless number of things at once. She couldn't decide which was most prominent. There was disorientation. There was restlessness. There was perhaps a little bit of gloom, something Mary wasn't sure she could've picked up if Mark's orbs hadn't been such a swirling, warm shade of brown. The sadness made him seem younger; more like a punished little boy.

They were past what Mary might deem 'the hard part.' But, she knew there were questions she was going to have to answer. While Mark pondered, she took her hamburger from its wrapper and chewed slowly. Only he would pick a fast food restaurant without tablecloths or menus.

Her chomping seemed unnaturally loud since she was chewing such soft foods, but maybe she was trying to concentrate on this to avoid concentrating on Mark. It appeared this was not to be.

"You really…?" Mark's voice stammered from lack-of-use. He cleared his throat and tried again, "You really didn't think I would be supportive?"

Mary closed her eyes, pausing mid-gnaw, placing her burger back on the table. She fiddled in the box of fries for a moment; anything to avoid looking at Mark's crestfallen face.

"I don't know what I thought," she whispered. "I was overwhelmed. I was looking for somebody to blame; I was trying to rationalize that nobody could make any decisions for me." She picked up her burger a second time, but didn't eat. "If things had turned out differently, I would've told you eventually."

Mark inclined his eyebrows, "You would?"

A shrug, "Well, I like to think I would. I managed to come through this time, didn't I? Even if there's no baby to speak of at this point."

Mark folded his arms in front of him, his meal seemingly forgotten. His chicken sandwich lay almost untouched on his napkin, the fries wafting their inviting fresh-out-of-the-oven smell, unspoiled with salt.

"I kind of feel like I've lost something," he admitted in a tired voice. "Even though I didn't know I had anything to lose. Does that make sense?" he cocked his head.

"Yeah, it does," Mary promised. "And, I'm sorry Mark. I really am. I just…"

He interrupted, "Are-are _you_ okay?" he slid forward on the bench, peering intently at his ex. "This must've been hard for you."

Mary gawked momentarily; truly unable to fathom that he would care about her feelings after she'd kept something like pregnancy from him. Between him and Marshall, they were shocking her more and more each day with their apparent understanding. It seemed she did have something of a positive effect on men after all.

"Well, it honestly hasn't been a picnic," she revealed dismally. "It was tougher than I thought it was going to be. It made me realize that I've been looking for something for a long time – something I didn't really realize I was missing until I lost the baby."

Mark seemed to glean what this meant without asking, and he nodded, eyeing his lunch hesitantly, like he wasn't sure whether it was all right to start chowing down. He had a sudden hungry look in his eyes, and Mary couldn't see why he would hold back.

"Eat," she encouraged. "This fast food fest was your idea, after all," she sent him a coy smile.

He grinned weakly and took his chicken in hand, nibbling vaguely at the corners. Mary could not comprehend this laid-back, submissive demeanor of his. She had expected only one of two things – juvenile jokes or anger. It was the latter, especially, that had her completely flabbergasted.

With him so quiet, she had to ask. It exploded from her chest before she could get a handle on it.

"Mark, aren't you mad at me?"

She almost sent her fries skidding the length of the table when she threw her arm out, and Mark looked startled by her intensity. Recovering, he settled in a scowl that made him look much older than he had minutes before.

"Should I be?"

"Well…" Mary implored the heavens for the right word, but saw there was only one. "_Yes_. Hello. I was going to have your baby and I bailed on you before you even had the chance to bail on me."

Mark looked somewhat nonplussed, "Are you saying you _wanted_ me to be the father of your kid? Because I doubt that."

Mary knew it was important to be tactful here. She tried to erase all the festering and agonizing she'd done over Mark, to find out the best way to truthfully respond to what he'd just asked her. No, he was not the man in her dreams or even the man _of_ her dreams. But, he'd had as little or as much to do with this whole situation as her. One way or another, she was not going to call any part of this an 'accident.'

"But, you _were_ the father of my kid," factual was best here. "There's no changing that."

Mark chortled bitterly, "You side-stepped that brilliantly, Mare."

The woman puffed loudly, blowing her hair out of her face, "Look, I don't want it going down on record that I said this or anything…" she waved a wild, indistinct hand over her head. "But, without this baby – by association, without you – I never would've known that my life could use a little switching up. I'd be stuck in a rut otherwise. I suppose I have you to thank for that."

She was thinking, not only of Jamie, but of Marshall, who might still be only her partner without this eventuality. She supposed this was going to come up sooner or later, since he was going to be picking her up soon.

"Switching up, huh?" Mark mused. "That doesn't really sound like you."

"Maybe I've turned over a new leaf," Mary boasted. "What do you know?"

"Not much, apparently," Mark snorted, which made Mary's heart clench uncomfortably. She knew he was only joking, but it still reminded her that she'd been rather remiss in hiding this from him. "But, it's nice to know you're becoming open to change. Does this mean you want to have kids?"

Mary had been faced with this question many a time since the week before, and she always felt the same sinking sensation in her stomach at the thought. It was mechanical, and yet she remembered Marshall claiming over and over that this was something it was perfectly acceptable to desire. It took her back to her scene on the floor and she figured it was probably time to get used to admitting it.

"Yeah…" she sighed resignedly, biting half a fry in the process. "I think maybe I do."

Mark grinned this time, "Wow…" he even laughed. "Looks like you're growing up," said with the absence of scorn. "I'm sorry you didn't get the chance."

"Yeah," Mary repeated. "I'm sorry for you too…"

"Oh, come on," his laugh turned suddenly harsh and he took a bigger chomp of his sandwich. "Me? A dad? I don't think so."

Mary had a sudden flash watching him that nearly startled her out of finishing her lunch. She abruptly realized how she must've looked to Marshall all this time – doubting her abilities, doubting her self-worth, doubting she could be something she desperately wanted to be. It was sad and she wanted to refute Mark – make him think otherwise – and she wasn't sure how.

How persevering Marshall must've been with her.

"You wouldn't be such a bad dad," she went with a lightness; nothing too mushy. "You're like a big kid. You'd fit right in," she sent him her best smile; the one that had convinced him to go to bed with her, but it was less inviting than it had been on that evening.

"Isn't that the problem, though?" Mark tried to smile back, but it faltered quickly. "I think you need to be an adult to be a father."

Again, Mary was reminded forcefully of her own feelings of worthlessness over the last week. How hard it was to persuade somebody when they'd already made up their mind. She suddenly worried she had caused this same sensation in Mark and wanted to do something to change it.

"Mark, don't let me and my stupid secrets keep you from thinking you could have more in your life too…" she abandoned her burger and found that her hand was inching across the table. She didn't particularly want to become touchy-feely, but it might be necessary. "I know things didn't work out this time, but you could meet somebody; you could settle down."

"I'm not so good at settling down…" he shook his head, eyeing Mary's hand with apprehension. "This new job…"

"You don't like it?" Mary interrupted, concerned.

Mark shrugged, "It's more work than I thought it was going to be. I have to deal with people more, instead of just the tools like before…"

"Ugh. People," Mary intoned in hopes of making him laugh, but he didn't seem to be listening.

"I'm kind of worried I'll end up leaving just for peace of mind – just to go back to something safer."

Mary pulled her hand back at this, allowing both to rest in her lap and narrowed her eyes at Mark. He was being so forthright with her; so uninhibited. It was strange, but she was enjoying it as well. It seemed to show her that she wasn't the only one in the world who experienced a lack of self-confidence from time to time.

"Don't you think a lot of things worth fighting for are hard?" she asked quietly, suddenly sounding more like Marshall than she ever had before. "You never know what you might miss by flying the coop," and she didn't just say that to avoid him coming to Albuquerque and working for Peter.

"I guess that's true," Mark agreed, coming to the end of his chicken now. "I mean, I'll give it a chance. I just hope it sorts itself out. Sometimes I don't think I'm much of a people person."

"_You're_ not?" Mary guffawed. "I think between the two of us, you are definitely more talented in that department."

She was able to elicit a laugh this time, "No kidding."

"Besides," Mary went on. "More time on the job – more opportunities to meet those blondes you're so crazy for."

"I've never been partial to blondes," Mark claimed, wagging a finger through a mouthful, the gloomy air beginning to evaporate.

"Yes, you have," she rebutted arrogantly. "Who were you most interested in during our less-than-glamorous younger days? Me and my sister. Both blonde," reminding him. "Brandi in more than one sense, I would say."

"Hey, don't be gross now," he shook a French fry at her for emphasis. "Brandi was like, seven or eight, when I was graduating high school. You're making me out to be some creepy pedophile…"

"Like you _ever_ saw her then," Mary rolled her eyes and snatched the fry out of his hand, winking when he made a pouting face. "You two didn't start hanging around together 'till her boobs had already expanded."

"Well, she's about to be a married lady," Mark proclaimed, trying to close the discussion. "So any thoughts of indiscretion I might've had will have to be kicked to the curb pretty soon."

Mary nodded, bringing their joshes down to a silence, but for the hustle and bustle of the other patrons in the restaurant. It had felt good to tease with Mark; get that puppy-in-the-pound look off his face. But, the fact that he had brought their sparring to a halt left them facing what they'd both tried to forget. To Mary's pleasure, however, he sensed the strain returning and dove after a different tack.

"I can't believe she's getting hitched," he said, referring to Brandi again. "She doesn't seem old enough."

"Well, case in point," Mary crumpled up her hamburger wrapper and stuffed it into a stray sack. "When you've known somebody since they were trailing along after you holding some scruffy stuffed bear…" a pang as she recalled Biscuit. "Kind of hard to see them making their way through 'real life.'"

"Is that how you feel?" he nudged perceptively. "Still seeing her as this kid you couldn't shake off?"

"No," Mary snapped a little too quickly. "I don't know. She's a big girl. About time she took care of herself."

"Not brooding about baby sister trying the knot before you?"

"Please…" and this time, Mary didn't offer her hand, but her palm. She reached across the table in an attempt to smack him upside the head, but he ducked out of the way laughing. "You know me. I'm not the jealous type."

Mark made a sound that Mary recognized as a derisive grunt, but he said no more after that, likely to protect his skull. Despite what she said, she had found it slightly unsettling that Brandi had found Peter before she'd managed to snag someone, but the whole world was overturned right now. She had Marshall these days, in some capacity or another, even without the presence of a flock of children.

And, as if he were reading her mind, Mark suddenly pounced.

"You talking about kids makes me wonder…" he too balled up his trash and deposited it in their mutual sack. "Are you seeing someone?"

This was a question that should've been easy, and yet Mary wasn't sure how to reply. She really didn't think it was fair to claim Marshall as her significant other when they'd only had the conversation the night before. Surely that would be jumping the gun a little.

If it were anybody but Marshall, she would've thought so. But, she'd been – in her own way – intimately connected with him for so long that a more meaningful relationship didn't seem like the leap it ordinarily would.

"I don't know…" Mary began coyly, copying Mark and standing to depart after checking watches. "Marshall's been very sweet to me lately. I think I'm stuck with him for now," she thought this was a good diversion; not revealing too much or too little.

She followed Mark to the door, thinking they were a little early to go and meet Marshall himself, but they had a few minutes' walk to get to where he would be waiting. Although the rain had evaporated, the smell of the ozone wafted strongly from between the cracks in the sidewalk and puddles glimmered on the asphalt in the early afternoon sun. The wind whipped Mary's hair around her face and she fell into step beside Mark, trying to be mindful of her bruised knee.

"Marshall, your partner?" he was saying. "The guy we went on the double date with?"

"Don't say double date," Mary requested automatically, and he chuckled.

"What happened to his girlfriend?"

"Nothing _happened_ to her," Mary insisted, although she couldn't be sure this was true. Marshall had been planning on having his own lunchtime conversation that might have taken care of just this sort of thing. "I didn't say we were together or anything."

Mark threw her a contemptuous look, "Yeah, but I saw the way your eyes got all sparkly…"

"My eyes do not _sparkle_," she whacked his bicep. "Don't be such a douche bag."

"All right, all right…" he conceded defeat, dancing out of the way of her punches. "Well, together or not, I'm just glad you've had a friend to talk to. You shut yourself in too much, Mare."

"If I had a nickel," his ex muttered under her breath.

Mark opted to ignore this comment, and the two of them settled for simply walking, leaves swirling and billowing in the puddles around them. The sidewalk was still damp and Mary's boots made a muffled version of their usual clopping sound. To the innocent bystander, she supposed they looked rather at odds; not speaking, not touching, sort of together, but sort of apart. But, in spite of Mary's worries about Mark, she didn't feel any sense of awkwardness. They'd broken through the ice as best they could.

And when they approached Marshall, who was waiting on the corner by the stoplight, he obviously didn't sense any frostiness between them either. Mary smiled widely, earning one from him in return, but he immediately diverted his focus to the other man.

"Mark; how are you?" he reached out his hand to shake, which was accepted.

"Hey Marshall," he answered in kind. "Not bad. It's good to see you."

"You too," Marshall nodded politely, offering a cordial grin that was neither forced nor haughty. "I wish our lunch breaks were longer; I'm sure you and Mary would've liked to catch up more…"

"We got pretty well caught up," Mark assured him with a nervous chuckle that hid nothing. "I know you guys have a lot to do. Busy jobs."

"It never stops," Marshall agreed. "I hope your new employment venture is going well?"

"Oh, Mary told you about that?" she loved how they spoke about her like she wasn't even there. "It's slow starting, but I'm trying to be optimistic," Mark shoved his hands in his pockets, putting an end to all the small talk.

This left Marshall time to spare a glance to Mary, who seemed to have been waiting in the wings until they were through getting reacquainted. He raised his eyebrows, as though he wanted her to initiate first, but he commenced regardless.

"You ready to head back?" he asked his partner. "I parked just down the street a ways," jerking his thumb over his shoulder.

"Yeah…" Mary took her turn at nodding, but then rotated to face Mark, casting harried glances between him and Marshall.

She wasn't quite sure how to leave things. Although she wasn't worked up over the idea of saying goodbyes with Marshall among them – Mark had been perfectly chaste, after all – she felt it would be rather cold to just give him the old heave ho after the bomb she dropped on him.

She acted fast, "Just give me a second," she addressed Marshall, who immediately held up and hand and nodded, backing away to allow privacy; not the least bit offended.

Even though Marshall had meandered all the way over the light pole, pretending to be interested in some fliers tacked up, Mary went ahead and yanked Mark aside. He looked a little perplexed at this action, but handled himself well enough; even jumped in with both feet on saying farewell.

"I'm glad I got to see you, Mare," he said, reaching out and placing his palm on her shoulder. "Unexpected info notwithstanding, I guess," a faltering laugh that trickled away.

Mary considered what she was about to say carefully, even chewed on her bottom lip as she contemplated, but she was feeling more and more appreciative by the second that Mark had taken this whole situation with Jamie in stride. It was only fair to give him some credit.

"Thank-you for…" she gestured indistinctly in front of her, like this might aide in getting the words out. "You know. Not shouting or ripping me in two or anything," a false giggle of her own.

"No problem," he declared, still with his hands jammed in his pockets. "I'm sorry things didn't work out for you. I mean, I'm sorry…" he was tripping over himself now, unsure how to phrase it properly. "I'm sorry you had to go through this…" again, he stumbled. "I'm sorry…"

"Mark," Mary finally cut him off and, in a motion that was not her own, she reached up and placed her index and middle finger over his mouth. It was gentler and softer than all the hammering she'd already done on him though, and he obviously recognized it. "Quit apologizing. It makes you sound like a pansy."

If it hadn't been Mary, he wouldn't have known she was joking. As it was, he was familiar enough with the way they operated that he understood.

"I'm the one who should be sorry, and we both know it," she reminded him bluntly. "I'd say let's forget it, but…"

Mary hesitated, her right hand now itching against her jeans as though to touch Mark again. Although her attraction toward him had long since died, he along with Jamie had become a piece of her forever. Without him, there would've been no Jamie. No realization. No Marshall.

"But, I guess I don't really want to forget it," she finished with a shrug. "In some weird way, you helped me here, Mark. I've needed to get over my father ditching me for a long time. I've used him as an excuse for a lot of things – mostly the fact that I hate change," a swallow. "It's time to move on, and I'm not sure I would've had the guts without this kid."

This earned her a warm smile, "I know how rough it was on your when your dad left."

"Well…" Mary went on. "We know one thing. You would've been a better dad to this kid than he was to me."

Mark took this glowing compliment for what it was, "High praise, coming from you."

She tried to smile again, looking at her feet and blushing slightly, though why she wasn't sure. She knew the moment was upon them; Marshall was waiting and so was WITSEC. It was time to kick back into gear; to 'move on' as she had indicated, though it was certainly easier said than done.

"I'll see you later, Mark…"

And without prefacing her actions at all, she enveloped her ex-husband into her embrace, resting her chin over his shoulder, which was easier to do since he wasn't nearly as tall as Marshall. He seemed a little startled by the affection and staggered at first, but it didn't take him long to settle in and compress lightly; an extra squeeze for good measure.

His stroke of body and skin wasn't the same as her partner's; it certainly didn't make Mary tingle all over the way Marshall did. But, it was pleasant just the same. Mark's touch was tentative, but welcoming all at the same time. It was a segment of her past; a reminder that it was sometimes nice to fall back into simpler days.

"I'm sorry," she whispered from right next to his ear, figuring one more time couldn't hurt. "Thank-you for understanding," another moment of gratitude as well.

Mark chose not to acknowledge this and landed on a different plane – one Mary was not entirely expecting.

"I love you, crabby."

Her belly gave a kind of sadistic plunge, but she talked herself down quite quickly. She really didn't know how to say it back, but she also didn't want to disappoint. She and Marshall's talk of labels had definitely reached her, and she settled for her own brand of expression.

Instead of responding, she turned her head and kissed his cheek as fast as she could, a gesture she hoped would make him smile. This was exactly what she found when she stepped back on the sidewalk once more, his cheeks slightly pink.

"I hope you'll come to Brandi's wedding," she encouraged quietly. "You know I'll be there."

His reply was short and sweet, "Save a dance for me."

With one last departing nod, Mary made her way to Marshall, waving over her shoulder at Mark, who walked back the direction they had come to his rental car. She found herself glancing back a few times to watch him go, making sure he got where he was headed, but he was soon far enough out of sight that she couldn't make him out any longer.

Her man was leisurely leaning against the pole, like he had no place better to be, but when he found Mary back in his midst once more, he straightened, obviously keen for details.

"That seemed like it went well," he assumed cautiously. "Mark didn't look like he popped a vessel or anything."

"No…" Mary agreed, feeling slightly apart from him in the present climate. "He was…" describing it was difficult. "He was…" trying again, shaking her head. "He was very nice. Gave me way better than I deserve."

"Oh, come now…" Marshall hit the walk button on the traffic light while they waited for the signal to admit them across. "It sounds like he was sympathetic. You deserve that."

"I just…" she kept seeing Mark's hangdog in that restaurant, and although she didn't want to dwell; it was hard to forget. "I've been so caught up in what was taken from _me_, I never really thought about what I was taking from _him_."

"Well, _you_ didn't take anything from him," Marshall rationalized. "I urge you to remember that."

"I don't know," she grumbled, running her fingers through her hair absentmindedly. "You really think if I'd stayed pregnant I would've told him the truth?"

Marshall pointed forward, indicating they were safe to cross the street, and they strolled on in front of a sedentary line of traffic at the red light. Once on the other side, Mary was unsure if he'd heard her question, but apparently he was just waiting for a quiet moment.

"Yes," he stated forcefully, and it seemed stark after the pause, but Mary would take it. "I think you would have confessed eventually. Though you often pretend otherwise, you have a very firm and unwavering conscience. I do not believe it would have allowed you to obscure counsel to this degree from him," taking a breath. "You may have reservations about Mark, but you concede he would step up when the cards are on the line?" he phrased this last portion as a question.

Mary would've deliberated heartily days before, but after meeting with Mark, she did indeed feel differently.

"I hurt his feelings," she mumbled softly. "When I made it sound like he would've left me and the baby to fend for ourselves."

Marshall turned to look at her in their amble, "Did you actually say that?"

"I tried not to," she sounded ever so timid. "But, I think some of it leaked through."

"Well, I like to think the effort in and of itself would show Mark you're attempting to see a lot of things in a new light," Marshall proceeded with his philosophy. "You came to terms about Jamie, it would seem, from that hug you shared," proving he'd been watching.

It was odd to hear him speak the child's name, previously only a visionary in Mary's subconscious. It was also odd to hear herself placed on a pedestal like this. Now that she and Marshall had communicated their more delicate feelings, it seemed he felt he could say whatever he liked – sap be damned. Mary had to admit she enjoyed it.

"I guess," she gave a resigned exhale in response to all his theories. "He'll be back for the wedding. Hopefully things won't be so embarrassing then."

"One can always hope," her friend concurred as they reached his car, and he inserted the key in the lock of the driver's side door.

Mary left him to climb in on the passenger side, feeling the bruise on her knee pulsate when she got a leg-up. After seatbelts had been snapped and Marshall had put the key in the ignition, Mary was suddenly jarred out of her musings about Mark by the recollection that Marshall had-had an uncomfortable lunch of his own.

"Wait…" she threw out her hand on his arm, making him stop and stare at her. "How did it go with Abigail? Was she able to meet you on her break?"

Marshall gave his own sigh and let his hand fall slack from the key. He'd clearly been quite happy to analyze Mary's issues and leave his aside for the day. But, now it was going to be hard to avoid his own troubles and judging from his fatigued blue eyes, Mary could guess his meeting had not been quite as smooth as hers.

"Well…" he began rather bleakly, drumming his fingers on his knee. "It actually was not my intent to break things off with her from the start. I felt doing such a thing over lunch would seem rather cruel – and without warning…"

Mary thought back to the scene at the house and didn't consider it completely unprecedented, but she kept silent and nodded.

"But, she seemed to figure it out on her own," he shrugged. "Or else had planned on breaking up with _me_ first and was just glad I'd spared her the task."

Mary knew this couldn't be all, "So…so that's it? I mean…she didn't want to know _why_ or anything?"

"Well, it doesn't take a detective to guess why," he flashed the woman a poignant look. "I mean, she was upset, but I think both of us knew this wasn't something we were ready for. We'd both been balking on living together and that was the very first sign."

Mary remembered, as though from a life she had lived long ago, Marshall asking her in the OBGYN's office just a week ago what her opinion was on the pair of them shacking up. It seemed impossible that they'd come this far in just seven days.

"She even said she'd gotten out of a serious relationship not long ago," he was still chattering. "Something she hadn't mentioned before today, which might explain her eagerness but frequent apprehension about taking big steps."

Mary was bobbing her head again, waiting to hear the rest of the story.

"And me…" he added as something of an afterthought. "I hardly have excuses. Looking back, I suppose she had every right to be jealous," he blinked at Mary shamefully, visibly wanting to take the blame off her, but knowing she would still incur some of it.

"Marshall, it's not like you ever acted on how you felt," she placed her fingers on his knee, still in the stationary car. "Neither did I. How could we give Abigail the truth when we didn't know it ourselves?"

"Sure…sure…" he seemed give consent, but his mind was clearly elsewhere. "I just hate to think I wasted her time – that I led her on in any way."

This time, Mary leaned further forward in her seat and locked his bright cobalt eyes in hers, drinking him in, forcing him to listen. She squeezed hard against his knee, and this prompted him to offer his own hand, slinking it effortlessly inside hers. That touch – fingers woven within fingers – was all the encouragement she needed to reassure him.

"If _I'm_ not allowed to blame myself for anything…" and Mary gave him a very significant look as she said this, indicating the miscarriage. "Then you sure as hell aren't either."

XXX

**A/N: So, Abigail gone…Mark gone (although more gracefully than Abigail). While I certainly make my fondness for Mark evident here, I decided not to have him stick around as I have in my other stories. I don't feel like he and Mary would've bridged the gap at this point in the series, although they're getting there. I had him go afar even though he could've had the opportunity with Peter – just a different take for me. Two chapters to go!**


	34. Chapter 34

**A/N: I am glad everyone enjoyed Mark, even if some of you are glad he's gone! This one is a bit longer; just tying up some loose ends…**

XXX

The week wrapped itself up on Friday evening when Marshall planned a spontaneous get-together at Mary's house for the pair of them, plus Jinx, Brandi, and Peter. At first, Mary was aghast at this idea, wondering what in the world he had in store. But then, he explained that he wanted to 'test the waters' with her family to see how they reacted to the two of them hosting a dinner. He wanted to search for clues in their faces; would they glean that two who were once partners were now a couple. He assured Mary that he had no plans to start getting into specifics; simply a dry run.

It was hardly a fancy gathering. Marshall grilled hamburgers and hot dogs in the steamy air at dusk; Mary put together a potato salad, and they were covered. Jinx arrived first and helped unearth some bags of chips they could pass around. She was positively glowing that Mary and Brandi had made up – or at least made nice.

And when Brandi and Peter walked through the door, Mary could definitely see that her sister her chosen to put all hard feelings to one side. Peter, on the other hand, appeared slightly unsure, trailing vaguely after his bride-to-be with polite handshakes and stiff smiles. Brandi pranced right in; her usual chipper self.

"Hi, Mare!" she practically shouted to the room at large, waltzing flamboyantly across the room where the elder was stationed in the kitchen.

She'd barely looked up before she felt the younger embrace her briefly. Her instinct was to paw her away immediately, but then she heard the hoarse voice in her ear.

"I sold _five_ cars this week."

Mary was completely bewildered as to why this was a secret, until Brandi stepped back and waggled her right hand, proudly displaying her diamond engagement ring. Mary knew what this must mean. She'd finally started wearing it at work, flexing her public relations muscles without the safety net of flirting.

"Yeah?" Mary dipped her chin, giving off an incredulous look. "No kidding."

"Turns out it's kind of a talking point," she confessed with another fond glance at the stone, still speaking in that odd undertone while Peter was busy with Jinx in the living room. "Who knew?"

"Well, congratulations I suppose…" Mary mused rather dully, turning back to the salad she was supposed to be tossing.

But, she should've known she wasn't getting away that easily. Brandi slunk up next to her, observing the preparation with only half her focus. It was clear she was determined to get this out so she could enjoy the rest of her night guilt-free.

"I probably wouldn't have had the guts to try it if we hadn't talked the other night," leaning her elbows on the island to get a better look at Mary's face. "If you hadn't reminded me that Peter already thinks I'm good at my job…"

"Glad I could be of help," Mary nodded, though still without a considerable amount of emotion. "Little ego boost never hurt anyone."

This time, Brandi tipped her chin onto Mary's shoulder, hands crossed over her back. Knowing this little show of gratitude wasn't going to end until she placated Brandi; the older sister reached up and patted her cheek without turning around. She perhaps hit a little too hard, but Brandi didn't seem to mind.

"I'm glad things are working out, Squish," she said honestly. "See? Hunting the man candy isn't the only thing you're good at."

Brandi chuckled, "Speaking of man candy…" and there was a definite deviousness to her voice now, perched so close to Mary's ear. "How's Mark?"

Mary paused, thinking her sister had some nerve to be mentioning such a thing after their blow-up. Then again, there was something different about the way she'd asked. Although the phrasing didn't indicate it, she sounded timid and a little fearful, like she was concerned for Mary's sake that it hadn't gone well. It was this that made the taller not snap in retaliation.

"I didn't know you knew I was meeting him," still tossing the lettuce and tomatoes and sneaking a quick glance to the window to see if Marshall was finished grilling.

"He called me when he got into town," Brandi explained. "How'd he take…you know…everything?" she trailed incoherently.

"How do you know I even told him?" Mary shot, finally turning around and abandoning the salad.

Brandi stepped back toward the sink and arched her brows, "Didn't you?"

Mary shrugged, which was pretty much consent in their world. To Brandi's credit, she did not start bombarding hungrily for details, but instead waited patiently, still with that marginally empathetic glance on her face. She, like Mary, was clearly worried he'd been in some sort of a rage.

"He was okay…"

She explained briefly about Mark's reaction to the news of Jamie – no naming names, of course – and when she was through, Brandi seemed even more empathetic, even merciful if possible. Mary wasn't typically a fan of pity, but considering Brandi's prior mood when it came to this whole thing, she was more than willing to accept.

"I'm glad he wasn't pissed, or anything," were her strange words of wisdom.

"You and me both," Mary chortled sardonically. "I got lucky."

She wondered in the back of her mind if Brandi was hoping for a well-mannered Mark for her own safety – Mary couldn't forget the reasons she'd wanted to keep him happy in the first place. It appeared, however, that she had no need to bombard Peter with potential salesmen if she was doing the job herself.

"Did he mention if he'll be back for the wedding?" she inquired keenly. "I invited him on Facebook…"

Mary gave an irritated huff at the mention of social networking, but nodded, "I think so. He mentioned he wanted to take the time off for it."

"Goody…" Brandi actually clapped her hands, viewing the matter as wrapped up. "That'll give me another guest on my side of the aisle!"

"Well, we wouldn't want to deprive the world of that," Mary sniped in her usual sullen way, figuring it was safe to return to her salad now.

As she approached the island and gave the bowl the once-over, she heard the back door slide open, meaning Marshall was rejoining them. He held a spatula in one hand and was wearing a supremely nerdy apron with red and white stripes. He also had a black mark on his face, probably from the charcoal, but he didn't seem to have noticed.

"Hello all!" he boomed joyously. "I didn't realize I was missing introductions!"

"Marshall, dear…" Jinx alone seemed surprised, ditching Peter now that he had Brandi and stopping short next to Mary, so that the blonde was now between her mother and partner. "I didn't know you were here…"

"Mom, don't you listen?" Brandi chimed in-in a superior sort of voice. "You were with me when Mary called about dinner – she said Marshall was cooking."

"Oh…" the mother smiled benevolently, the rouge seeming to stand out in her cheeks a little. "It must've slipped my mind or something."

"Perfectly understandable," Marshall assured her. "It is hardly customary for me to be here on a Friday evening, but I don't know if my fellow inspector here is really such a whiz at the barbecue…" he cuffed Mary around the shoulder, earning a terse, testy grin.

"Better watch your mouth, doofus," she quipped with a manic glint in her eye reserved especially for him. "You never know what I might throw in the salad – potato or otherwise."

"Ah, I'll take my chances," he claimed suggestively, matching Mary's look with one of his own.

She was so busy losing herself in his glance as he made a show out of seizing a potato chip bag and ripping it open to be nearer to her, that she almost didn't hear Brandi's delighted squeal sound from the living room. She jumped as though on some kind of a delay, more startled out of her reverie by what she and Marshall might be caught doing than whatever had attracted Brandi's eye.

It didn't take her long to find out.

"Ooooooh – a _kitty_!" she sounded like she was having some kind of fit, and Mary was forced to pull her gaze from Marshall's, peering around Jinx's frame.

She turned around just in time to see Brandi snatch Beatrix from the floor, nuzzling and kissing every inch of fur she could reach, practically suffocating the poor thing.

"Where did you get him?" she shrieked, still talking at the top of her lungs. "He is yours, isn't he?" at this, Beatrix gave an indignant meow, and Brandi reluctantly loosened her grip.

"She," Mary corrected grudgingly. "And yes, she's mine. Poindexter here thought I needed the company," throwing a disdainful look over her shoulder at Marshall, one that didn't reach her eyes, which still showed the love.

"She's _darling_," Brandi yelped, rubbing her nose against the cat with something resembling affection. "And so itty-bitty! You could carry her in your pocket!"

"Well, I don't plan on it," Mary informed her, pretending she was nowhere near attached to the being, reaching past Jinx for the salt shaker. "Her claws have already started demolishing my floors."

"What's her name?" Peter asked, for Brandi was indisposed with all her cuddling.

"Beatrix," Marshall spoke up. "Old-fashioned, yet trendy…"

"From the dark ages, more like," Mary groused.

Conversation about the cat died from the there, although Brandi continued to moon and smother Beatrix until she hissed loudly and tried to snip her fingers, which left the younger sister forced to release her. Although Marshall had barbecued outdoors, they ate inside, lounging around the living room with the deck door open, wafting in a warm, sweet summer breeze.

Mary enjoyed the evening purely because she didn't seem expected to contribute much to the conversation. Everyone seemed well aware of her current predicament – Brandi would've told Peter by now – and didn't press her for additions to discussion. She sat on the floor so she could use the coffee table to hold her plate and drink; Marshall relaxed in the chair just above her.

It was Brandi who brought their mealtime dialogue onto an entirely different plane, which made Mary tune in. She was snuggled on the couch with Peter, feeding him bites of fruit.

"Marshall, why didn't you bring Abigail tonight?" she asked flippantly, munching rather loudly on the onions in her potato salad. "You make such an _adorable_ couple, you know."

Mary felt herself flush furiously, glad the coffee table partially obscured her from view of her sister, and she felt Marshall shift from above. She could tell by the way he uncrossed his legs to perch at the edge of the chair, wanting to appear aloof but resolute.

"She's busy," he fabricated swiftly, gnawing a hunk off his hamburger. "Detective work, you know. Lots to do."

"You should really think about bringing her to the wedding," Brandi went on, as everything was about her nuptials these days. "I mean, I'm over that whole 'arrested' thing…"

Mary frowned at the memory of Nancy Drew cuffing her sister in the middle of dinner with Peter's parents, and became instantly more at ease with her and Marshall's break up.

"Well, I don't know about the wedding…" Marshall segued smoothly, ignoring Brandi's afterthought. "We are not exactly exclusive. We haven't agreed not to see other people."

That was good, Mary thought. Excellent, really. It didn't implicate her or him, and it didn't arouse suspicion on the part of the dinner guests. Nonetheless, she could've sworn she saw Jinx raise her brows from her chair opposite the coffee table. Mary found herself watching her intently as they went round-and-round on Abigail once more.

"Does that mean you're seeing someone _besides_ her?" Brandi proposed greedily while Peter fingered her hair, perhaps in an attempt to shut her up.

"I am a man of many talents," Marshall all-but puffed out his chest. "Nothing wrong with keeping one's options open."

If Brandi had been more astute, she would've realized this statement was not like Marshall at all. He dreamed of some sort of big house in the country with livestock and children running up and down the front porch; jumping off a school bus, playing in the snow and leaping in piles of leaves. He was a traditional fellow and always had been.

"Playing the field, huh?" Brandi presumed, taking him at his word.

At that moment, Mary distinctly saw Jinx's eyes travel from to her, to Marshall, and back again. Mary had moved so she was leaning against the bottom half of the chair, Marshall's legs dangling at her side. She was even resting her head on his knee, letting him deal with her nosy sister.

"You could call it that," Marshall was noncommittal.

"Well, too bad _my_ field-playing days are over…" Brandi crooned so girlishly Mary thought she might lose her dinner. She batted her eyelashes at her fiancée and he gave an appreciative chuckle, granting her a quick kiss on the lips. "We're about to be the old ball and chain, aren't we?"

"Or something a little more flattering," Peter supposed easily. "I really feel like things are starting to pick up, you know? Two months seems like nothing…"

"That reminds me…" Brandi butted in. "Mom, I took my dress to the tailor's yesterday…"

"Did you?"

While Jinx and Brandi engaged themselves in more wedding plans, Mary twisted in her spot on the floor to glance up at Marshall, giving him her most impressed look. He recognized it for what it was and winked heartily, picking up a chip and crunching it on the tail end.

"Not bad, huh?" he placed all authority on himself, slightly conceited.

Mary didn't entirely give him the satisfaction, "Yeah well, you're fortunate my sister's kind of a ditz…"

"Now-now…" he dropped his voice just in case the others started listening in. "Had she kept interrogating, it is possible I wouldn't have been able to hide it…"

"I'm not sure we're hiding anything from Jinx," Mary informed him, stealing a glance to her mother, who was still talking to her youngest daughter. "She keeps staring at me."

"Maybe she just finds you as beautiful as I do."

For the second time in two minutes, Mary felt her cheeks flare. This was a bigger step than they'd taken thus far. A muddled mix of responses clamored around her brain. She could make him feel dumb for having complimented her. She could scold him, saying she did not need that sort of theoretically-romantic talk. She could ignore him. She could smack him.

But, none of those seemed quite right. Instead, she went for the most diplomatic answer in her arsenal.

"Thank-you."

It didn't go unnoticed either. Marshall craned his neck backward, looking like an absurdly long goose, and gave her a searching look.

"Thank-you?" he repeated.

Mary didn't intend for him to beat this to death, "Yeah. You said a nice thing. I said thank-you. Isn't that what ordinary people do?"

"They would…" he agreed.

To Mary's utter astonishment, he started slinking down in his chair, wrapping his arms around her chest, so that his mouth was inches from her ear. This time, she did smack him, pushing on his shoulder, trying to get him to back up.

"Marshall, cut it out…" she was serious; somebody was going to look this way soon.

"Ordinary people might say thank-you…" he completely dismissed her, causing her blood pressure to spike another couple notches as she tried to keep an eye on Jinx and the gang. "If you were ordinary. I find that you are more along the lines of _extra_ordinary."

"Whatever…!" Mary hissed urgently, giving him a particularly hard shove. "Just dispense with the sweet-nothings, Romeo. You were the one who said we weren't going to give them any clues."

Reluctantly, it seemed, Marshall did slither away as silently as he approached, but he was clearly getting a kick out of Mary's alarm where the situation was concerned. He didn't see it as negative that her family might become aware sooner rather than later that the pair of them were molding into a couple. Regardless, he'd promised to take things slow if that was what she wanted, and it appeared it was.

Fortunately, when they reemerged, Brandi and her wedding plans were still the main topic.

"Darling, I would let her hem the gown, but I wouldn't mess with the sash…" Jinx was offering sage advice. "I really loved how it looked on you."

Brandi wrinkled her nose, working her mouth side-to-side, "Maybe. What do you think?" she turned to Peter, who seemed rather bemused at being asked an opinion.

"Just meet me at the altar, hon," he said with a nervous chuckle. "That's my only part in this."

"My kind of man," Mary piped up so they'd think she'd been paying attention. "Better keep him at arm's-length Squish."

Brandi let out a raucous squeal to let her displeasure of this idea be known, but Peter kissed her cheek lovingly to prove he wasn't going anywhere. Jinx watched them fondly for a moment before turning her attention back to her older daughter, who had just had her shoulder squeezed rather roughly by Marshall. It was her turn to take some pride in making him unnecessarily envious, even if her remark about Peter hadn't been genuine.

"I'm going to put my dishes in the sink," she announced quietly to the man, elbowing herself off the floor, only the remains of her hot dog bun on her plate. "So, keep your shirt on," referring to his bout with marking his territory.

"For now…" he sent her a cunning grin that also went unnoticed by the soon-to-be-newlyweds. "Hurry back, inspector."

For one insane moment, Mary thought he was going to kiss her. He had bent to the side of his chair, resting his elbow on the arm rest, like he might be coming in for the kill. She staggered forward and then back, unsure what he was doing, but he eased her mind when he simply extended his hand to interlock with hers.

"Relax," he whispered with a compression of her fingers, allowing them to fall limply back to her side, the other hand balancing her plate. "They'll find out eventually. Today, tomorrow, next week…it'll work itself out when they do."

Mary didn't even know why she was nervous, but shrugged, "I hope so."

Marshall nodded sedately, granting her permission to head back to the kitchen, which she accepted at once. She wasn't at the faucet two minutes, however, when a body joined her in rinsing the cutlery. At first, she neglected to turn around, busy with her plate and content listening to the babble of voices in the living room. She only rotated when she heard the voice.

"Sweetheart?"

Only one person would call her that. Well, two actually, but the other wasn't here. He was just a figment of her imagination, woven into dreams, manifesting as the son she'd never birthed.

Mary flicked off the water and spun around, drying her hands on a dishtowel. She found Jinx, her green eyes dark and pointed, chin tipped toward the floor.

"Yeah? What?" Mary prompted.

"No-no…nothing…" Jinx suddenly balked, but it could not have been plainer that she was deliberately trying to pry something out of her daughter.

Her eyes were alight with anticipation, and the way she lifted her hands and paced in front of Mary said she wasn't going anywhere soon. She was deceptively blasé; something Jinx had never really been able to pull off.

"You wouldn't have come in here if it was nothing, mom," Mary abandoned her towel, not up for playing games.

Jinx didn't dillydally for long now that Mary had spotted her true intentions, "There isn't something you'd like to _tell_ me, honey?"

She shook her head in what she hoped was a believable way, "Can't think of a thing."

This produced an exasperated sigh, "You might get away with that sort of thing when it comes to your job Mary, but not this time…" she even wagged her finger as though she were reprimanding.

Mary stuck a hand on her hip and looked stonily back at Jinx, willing her to back down, but she'd been catching funny looks from her mother all evening. It was possible she was much more perceptive than Brandi; it certainly seemed like it. If Marshall was to be trusted, everything would sort itself out.

And if she couldn't trust Marshall, she might as well pack her bags right now.

"Why don't you enlighten me, mom?" Mary eventually put on the table, not ready to show her cards yet. "What exactly do you think is going on?"

"Darling, I have a second set of eyes when it comes to these matters…" she shimmied closer, throwing a clandestine glimpse to the living room. "Marshall not bringing his girlfriend to dinner, spending a Friday night here instead of with her…"

"You heard him; she's working…"

"The way he keeps _touching_ you when you generally bite the head off of anyone who tries…"

"Now you're just being dramatic…"

Jinx unexpectedly grabbed both of Mary's forearms and, breathing heavily into her face, practically bellowed her suspicions for the entire world to hear.

"You're _seeing_ him, aren't you?"

Mary could not believe she was being roped into this conversation with her mother, of all people. Who she would've told first, she had no idea, but not Jinx, and definitely not Brandi. Stan likely would've been her number one choice, but even he was sketchy because of work regulations.

As it was, she still did not accept her defeat so readily. She rolled her eyes as though the notion were beyond far-fetched.

"Seeing him do what?"

Jinx gave a squawk and released her, thumping her lightly on the arm, "You are impossible, Mary."

She knew she was beginning to look guilty for the supposed crime she had committed, and also knew that Brandi and Peter would pick up on Jinx's euphoria if she didn't button up soon. And so, because she didn't want to have to deal with Jinx _and_ Brandi in one night, she finally took her resignation and put up a hand to silence her mother.

"Just, keep it down would you?" Mary requested heatedly, seeing that Marshall had now absorbed himself in bridal organizations. She shuddered to think how much he knew about florists and sequins. "We don't need it broadcast everywhere."

Despite her supposed certainty, Jinx apparently couldn't believe her ears, "So it's true?"

"Well, 'seeing' is a little strong," Mary clarified hastily. "We're trying it out, okay? Figuring out how we function beyond friends or whatever we were before…"

"Oh, you were always more than friends," Jinx waved this aside as of little importance.

"What were we then?" Mary wanted to know, skepticism in every inflection of speech.

"It doesn't matter, it doesn't matter…" Jinx decided on the spot, flouncing her way back over to the taller woman and starting to finger her hair affectionately. "What matters is that my little girl is going to find happiness after all…"

"Mom, please," Mary tried to downplay this. "Don't you think that's slightly premature?"

"Please yourself," Jinx scoffed. "This has been coming on for years."

Mary viewed this as quite the surprise. Her mother had been _expecting_ her and Marshall to hook up? She was blown away to think that might be true. Until the escapades with Jamie, she'd never even contemplated looking at her partner in that light. She still wasn't sure how she felt about it. The absence of tags on their relationship and even greater lack of idealistic kisses didn't make it hard to look at the whole set of circumstances as very tentative indeed.

Besides, Mary had been known to crash and burn when she skyrocketed in with both feet.

"Well, we don't need unsolicited advice about how to connect with one another," she said firmly in hopes of shutting this down. "Don't go blabbing to Brandi. Got it?"

"Fine-fine…" Jinx was still twirling Mary's blonde locks. "But, oh Mary…" she emitted an airy, far-away sigh. "After everything you've been through lately, you deserve whatever good things come your way…" working hard at this supportive maternal manner. "I've been ever-so-worried about you since the baby, and I'm so glad you have Marshall on your side."

Mention of the baby didn't do much to alleviate Mary's sense of foreboding. She didn't like having such a deep exchange with so many people around. It didn't feel appropriate, somehow; it was like they were breaching a kind of confidence. Bringing Jamie into play was a surefire way to bring her spirits down.

"The baby is behind us…" Mary gulped, a trickle of culpability coursing through her veins because she didn't feel as such at all. "The only thing we can do is move on."

Fortuitously, Jinx recognized the finality in Mary's tone, shaky as it might have been, and saw that her work was done. With a knowing grin over her shoulder, she cavorted back to the living room, leaving Mary to her thoughts and dirty dishes.

For some reason though, Mary didn't feel like rejoining the party. Jinx had unintentionally filled her mind with all sorts of questions she'd never even considered. If she and Marshall's union had been a long time coming, did that mean she'd wasted almost ten years just playing his snarky partner? Did that mean she could've had a child long ago, long before Jamie, one that would fill this void she hadn't entirely gotten rid of?

On the pretense of going out to clean up the grill, Mary escaped the gathering by disappearing out the back door, suddenly not in the mood to fraternize with her family. What had minutes before been a billowing comfort now made her agitated and flustered. She didn't know if it was Jinx's implications or the fact that she'd uncovered her and Marshall's little mystery that was doing it.

And so, she settled herself sitting on the edge of the deck, knees perched over the stairs as nighttime fell and the first stars began to twinkle in the balmy, humid summer air. Lightning bugs came out and flashed their bulbs in the tall grass; cicadas and locusts chirped their merry songs. And Mary simply sat – thinking. Thinking of Jamie and how he'd never ride that bike she'd constructed for him; never walk his first steps; never flower into the little boy she seemed to have been longing for without even knowing it.

Twilight had completely encompassed her hazy form when she realized she was not alone. As the velvety night sky cast its navy shadow onto the desert below, she heard slow, purposeful footsteps on the wooden planks.

"You look like you could use a hug…"

Mary snapped her way back to reality, whipping around and finding Marshall's figure blurring above her, half his face eclipsed in the light spilling out from the kitchen.

"…And that is something I can promise you I never would have said a mere week ago."

Mary could only bestow him a wan smile as he sat down beside her, carrying an almost-empty beer bottle in one hand. He nudged his lanky form right next to her hips and she allowed him to wrap his arm around her back and lay a fluttering kiss to her temple.

The smooch ended quickly, but he left his arm where it was.

"You okay?" he asked genially.

Mary gave a sigh, "I guess. Somebody ask where I'm hiding?"

"No…" Marshall shook his head, which wasn't easy with them pressed so closely together. "They are still knee-deep in bridal diagrams. I think graphs may be coming out by nine o'clock."

This time, she managed a chuckle, "How many times a day can you talk about a wedding?"

"Brandi might hold a record. I will grant you that."

Silence inhabited around them, like its own being amongst the greenery and nocturnal insects. It was a dweller that Mary had once found very unsettling, never relishing when things got too quiet. And yet with Marshall, it was different. She was getting used the softness by now. It was like an old friend creeping up through the floorboards.

"You sure you're all right?" Marshall pushed carefully, allowing his hand to slip part-way down Mary's back.

Staring out into the darkness, making out nothing but the outlines of trees and bushes, indistinct shapes in the dusk, a voice in the back of Mary's head chastised that this wasn't a good time for this. She'd ruined enough lately, and she didn't need to ruin a nice dinner too.

And yet, Marshall's sincerity was enough to break her even on her best days.

"It still hurts."

Her confession mingled simply with all the sounds of summer, almost like it was meant to be there. And still, to Mary, this seemed a crude way to interrupt such a hypothetically pleasant night.

"I know," Marshall responded in the trademark way he had when she'd fallen to the floor and cracked her knee. "It must sneak up on you at rather odd times."

"Yeah…" Mary agreed, thinking that was exactly what happened. "I lose myself in it sometimes. One minute I'm depressed because of what I lost – the next I feel bad that Mark never knew. Then, I start wondering who he would've been and it gets worse. I never even thought about what he missed out on."

"He, meaning Jamie?" Marshall elucidated for posterity.

She nodded mutely, for the first time feeling glad that she had confided her dreams in Marshall so they could give her son his proper name and not have to waste the energy darting among it. She was extremely fortunate that he never seemed to find the delusions too eccentric.

"That's a tough conception to live with," he went on plainly, bumping his head against hers so their temples brushed. "The idea that Jamie could've been a regular little boy like every other child. It's one that I'm sure it will be hard to let go of."

This reminded Mary, "You think I should keep talking to Finkel? You know…even though we're squared away."

"I don't think it could hurt," Marshall stated predictably. "Losing a child – to miscarriage or in any other fashion – is not easy. There are intricacies that neither you nor I know about. I think that is proven by the 'sneak up on you' element."

"I don't know…" she couldn't commit, and she felt Marshall begin to caress her back soothingly. "I hate being stuck in there, spilling all my secrets…"

"I could go with you, if you like," he offered rapidly before she could go on.

Mary threw him an almost pitying look that she wasn't sure he could see because of the shadows hovering around them.

"You don't need to go," she turned him down softly. "There isn't anything wrong with you."

The gaze she received in return was almost as indistinguishable as the one Mary had given him. He seemed perplexed by the ominous, obvious change in her state of mind. Although he didn't agree with her assessment, he couldn't help being touched that she viewed him as so flawless.

"Mary…" he whispered, voice sounding husky amidst the dying sun. He pitched forward, elbows on knees, to see around the curtain of hair dangling in front of her face. "We all have parts of ourselves we don't like – parts of ourselves that could stand improvement. And we all go through hard times, just like you have."

"Yeah, but you're not off your rocker like I am…"

Instead of refuting her, Marshall probed deeper, "Why would you say that?"

Mary felt his fingers tickle against her ear, and she realized he was sweeping her hair aside, the better to see her face. It reminded her of the day he'd come after her when she'd been crying on the balcony, as he'd been as desperate then as he was now to plumb the most vulnerable parts of her very fragile soul. She blinked at him and all he did was wait, half his face in stark yellow light, the other half buried beneath the shade of the disappearing evening.

"You'll laugh at me," Mary finally assumed, unable to imagine she was seriously bearing in mind what she was about to say.

"I promise I won't."

In truth, Mary knew he wouldn't, but it was a safeguard she needed to put up.

"You remember those dreams I told you about?" she began uncertainly.

"About Jamie, yeah."

Mary gulped, tasting the hot dog, the grease from the potato chips, and the scorching sensation of the onion on her tongue. She hoped she wasn't going to lose all of it. She couldn't ever remember a time when she'd been willing to wear her heart on her sleeve like this.

"Well, there was a man in them too – my husband, I guess, and Jamie's father," she rattled off quickly. And before he could ask, "And I'm pretty sure it was you."

She was far beyond 'pretty sure' but she had to save face somehow; had to show Marshall she hadn't entirely bought into such a ludicrous idea. To her immense amazement, however, he smiled. It wasn't a mocking smile either, but a genuinely pleased grin of sheer fulfillment.

Mary was about to goad him about this, but he beat her to it.

"Well, if I'm going to laugh at you…" he put up his hands, almost in defeat. "You'd better take your turn at poking fun at me."

Mary furrowed her brow, "Why?"

"Because you've visited my dreams for the past eight years."

For a minute, the locusts were the only sound. They clung to the bark on the trees, chirping shrilly while their fellow fireflies continued to shimmer in their bunches in the grass. They allowed the innate noises of the night to swallow them up; to shroud them wholly and completely in their wonder. Because, while the forest ticked on as naturally as breathing, it seemed another inevitable occurrence had just joined the rhythm of the earth.

Mary opted to leave aside the utter cheesiness of what her partner had just said, because he had kept his word and not guffawed at her stupidity, but she was still floored.

"Really?" was all she could manage.

Marshall took care of the rest. He took advantage of her head turned slightly toward him and placed his hands upon her cheeks, cradling her face in his fingers. Then, very deliberately and concisely, he began to speak.

"Mary, I love you. And whether we 'label' it as such or not, I always will. Rings and nuptials and children – it may come with time. But even if there isn't any shared bed, any wedding, any new house, or any Jamie…" he paused, very much taken in by the wideness of her green eyes. "I'll still love you."

And with reckless abandon, Mary allowed her lips to capture his, to drink in his flesh, skin, blood, and bone. She towed his spirit and mind within, feeling the soft, cushioning, safe nature of his kiss like a present she'd been waiting for since the beginning of time.

His right hand left her cheek and started to mingle effortlessly in her hair, pulling the strands out of knots, and simply reveling in the supple quality on his nails. Mary could feel his own hair quilling against the gentle pads of her fingers, his neck warm and sturdy.

And as the breeze circled, welcoming its tepid draft to ruffle their embrace, Mary found herself quietly in awe that this was real. It was a moment she'd engineered only in the deepest recesses of her mind, and yet it felt truer and more sincere than anything else she'd ever experienced. The pain that Jamie had left began its slow evaporation – not vanished, but leaving a dull ache in its place.

When she found it in her to slip away, she saw that an elated, grinning Marshall waited on the other side.

"Am I to assume that means you feel the same way?"

Mary smirked beneath her delirium, "Don't be getting fresh with me doofus."

And, liberated by a familiar insult, Marshall concurred, "That's my girl."

XXX

**A/N: Whee, they said it! They are 'official' or something along those lines! There is only one more chapter to go, and it is the epilogue (you know me and epilogues!) I hope you like how I wrap this up!**


	35. Epilogue

**A/N: This is it, folks. I cannot tell you how heartily I am going to miss reading your comments. Every single one of you have made me feel as though I excel at something. The fact that you guys have taken the time to read this means more than you will ever know. I have cherished your reviews and hold them close to my heart. Thanks for being there to extend a kind word this past month. It's made my life a lot sweeter. I hope you thoroughly enjoy the way this ends.**

XXX

**6 months later, December:**

Mary sat on the edge of the bathtub with her head in her hands. She blocked out the weak winter sunshine filtering in through the high window, staring only at a sea of black with gold bursts springing into life between her eyes and fingers. She was trying, fruitlessly it would seem, to wipe her mind blank; to gather a smidgen of clarity. She had just thrown up her entire breakfast into the porcelain throne with which she had become very acquainted as of late. This made almost a week straight where she had lost a meal, be it in the morning or any other time of day. Her stomach didn't seem to reserve it simply for the A.M. Whenever it felt the need to purge itself of Chinese noodles, scrambled eggs, cereal, cheeseburgers, or chips and salsa, it did so without delay. Even now, as she sat sedentary, her gut did not seem entirely settled, still twisting feverishly.

But then, that could be because of the short plastic stick she had left sitting alone and out of sight in the sink.

Mary had seen the results with her own two eyes. There was no mistaking them. There, in the miniscule strip of film was a resolute, bold and brash yet very tiny plus sign. It only meant one thing, but that one thing had spooked her into sitting down, into flinging the object toward the basin, into refusing to believe this day was finally upon her. Six months since the loss of Jamie, and the day she supposedly dreamed of had finally arrived.

She was pregnant.

True, she'd suspected it even before the vomiting had begun. The way she became instantly bloated and more irritable than usual; the way the pounds seemed to settle in her cheekbones and across her midsection – thick and pudgy once again, not round just like before. There had also been this feeling, this unexplainable feeling she'd experienced rushing hard and fast through her blood vessels. It was a sense that she was no longer alone. There was something more being carried and nestled within her ever-expanding body. There was something she was taking care of without even knowing it.

Why then, was she not over the moon with relief? Six months of worry that the possibly of conceiving was next to nothing, and here was proof that her biological clock thought otherwise. She should be ecstatic. She should be thrilled. She supposed a fraction of her was; a fraction that dared to hope and dream. The other, more cautious portions said one thing only.

You could lose this baby. You could lose this one like you lost Jamie. It happened once. It could happen again.

Gathering her courage, Mary stood and wobbled over to the sink to examine the evidence once again. There it was. Two lines crossed; one up and one sideways. The addition symbol if ever she'd seen it. How could one's life be altered by such a simple character? It stood as a representation of far bigger things to come.

Glancing upward, Mary also caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She looked dreadful, but hoped that was because she'd just been heaving over the toilet. Her cheeks were sweaty and pale; bags had formed underneath her eyelids. She resembled someone with a bad case of the flu, other than the distinct puffiness in her face that would not otherwise be present.

Mary knew, despite her reservations and fears, that she would never be able to accept this news without sharing it. The only person she could legitimately share it with was the one who had enabled her to become pregnant in the first place, here on this cold December morning, Christmas a mere two weeks away. Leaving the test where it lay, she crossed to the door and eased it open with a creak.

She half-expected Marshall to be waiting there, but he wasn't. She leaned in the frame and sighed, closing her eyes and wondering if a reveal was going to be necessary. True, Marshall had not seen her puke most days, but he was still too astute for his own good. After all, he'd guessed the last time.

"Marshall?!" Mary called in a quavering voice.

He didn't come right away, "Yeah?!" answered his deeper tone from the kitchen.

A swallow that left a nasty taste in her mouth, "Can you come here?"

There was the sound of scraping and clanking, meaning that Marshall had stood up and rearranged his breakfast dishes before ascending down the hall to where Mary was stationed in the bathroom door. His walk was steady and deliberate, but casual just the same. He clearly did not expect anything out of the ordinary. When he reached Mary, he was still chewing his bacon from his plate.

"What's up?" he asked, dusting his hands on his jeans. But before she could respond, he noticed her pallor, "Whoa…" a hand immediately went to her face, testing her flesh for signs of warmth; cheeks to forehead. "Are you okay? You're not looking so hot…"

Mary sanctioned the approval of his palm resting on her forehead, pushing her bangs away, while she closed her eyes and tried to start with facts.

"I just threw up."

"Oh, no…" he breathed sympathetically. "You must be coming down with something," now he debated between his skin and hers to feel the difference.

This was where Mary had to disagree, "I don't think so."

Marshall didn't buy it, "No?"

"No."

Marshall's blue eyes were openly confused; Mary could tell by the way his eyebrows met in the middle and he stopped his examination of her head. She really was astounded he hadn't put two and two together, but it was different this time around. He was this baby's father, unlike with Jamie; his own involvement in the conception might have him looking at things through an entirely dissimilar set of lenses.

"Marshall, I'm…"

Mary had never actually pictured this moment, but she was sure that if she had, it wouldn't have happened like this. She'd have come up with jokes; she'd have cast off the whole scenario as no big deal; nothing to pull out all the bells and whistles for. At the very least, she'd have acted pleased and happy. This didn't seem right just yet.

"I'm…"

Again, she gulped, knowing she couldn't stare up into that befuddled face for much longer.

"I'm…pregnant."

Mary expected a plateau of shocked silence. She expected Marshall's eyes to pop; for him to cover his mouth or stand gaping. She did not expect for him to seize the profession like a rope and blurt out his disbelief nearly the second Mary allowed it to escape.

"_What?_" now his eyes did expand. "You're…you're…" she'd never seen Marshall stumble this way. "You're really…" he was as bad as Stan at saying the word. He jumped ahead, "Are you sure?"

Mary exhaled and stepped aside, waving a hand indicating that he should follow her into the bathroom. He obediently did as told, and his lids immediately flicked toward the sink when Mary gestured there for him to see the confirmation.

He stood there; gawking at it like it was some magnificent treasure, while Mary stationed herself across the room by the shower curtain, arms folded over her middle. She did not know why she felt so introverted, other than at the idea of preparing to lose something she'd only just gained. Perhaps she was worried Marshall's euphoria would cause her to count her chickens before they hatched.

"Oh my God…" he respired quietly, unable to take his eyes off. "Oh my God…"

"I-I was late about a week ago…" Mary shared out of nowhere, perhaps to give better details. "And I've been sick every day since. I just…I wasn't sure…I didn't want to…" she shrugged uncomfortably. "I didn't want to jump the gun…" her timbre trailed away, although seemed to echo in the small bathroom.

Marshall stood for a moment, still staring in wonder, finally sweeping his hair off his forehead and letting out his own exhale, like he couldn't get his head wrapped around the idea. When he finally came to, he turned to Mary with an expression of complete awe, although with the absence of a smile.

"Mary, come here…" he requested in an odd ethereal sort of voice, crackling strangely in their confined space. "Come over here…" wiggling his fingers.

Somewhat reluctantly, she went, and Marshall tugged her in next to him. She didn't turn entirely around for a full-on embrace, but left her right shoulder pressed against his chest, so that his long arms wrapped her in a cocoon. She eventually wove her arms around his back, but still did not turn to lose herself within him. He was kissing her now, repeated flutters on her hair, just above her temple.

"Oh my God…" he said again. "I can't believe this. Oh, we did it…" about the sixth kiss landed on her head once more.

Truthfully, Mary did not feel she'd done anything, but was happy to allow Marshall to hold her close. She even closed her eyes to soak it in, and when she reopened them saw their reflection in the mirror over the sink. He had his chin pressed to the crown of her head, still savoring her profile in his arms.

Knowing she was going to have to say something soon, Mary landed on, "Congrats, dad…" partially muffled from her side stance.

He must've been able to detect that her heart wasn't in it, "Are you all right?" still in that hushed manner.

"Yeah, I just…" Mary didn't want to spoil it, and so changed her mind. "Yeah."

But, there was no hiding from Marshall, and even though he was likely minutes away from blubbering, he aversely let her go, still with that look of shell-shock in his bright eyes.

Mary swept her shirt tighter around her, suddenly aware once more that she was so white-faced and sweaty.

"What's the matter?" Marshall proposed without a hint of accusation. "You're not happy?"

"No, I-I am…" Mary worked speedily to convince him. "I am. It's just hard…"

He clued in a bit, "Are you scared?"

"No," Mary insisted at once, but she knew she'd opposed him a little too quickly; her guard was down.

As it was, he inclined his brows suggestively, leaning with one hand on the counter, analyzing her up and down. Mary suddenly became self-conscious again, wondering how he could have possibly missed how much chubbier she was. Perhaps he'd been bluffing, but she didn't think so. His surprise had appeared authentic.

"There would be nothing wrong with being scared," Marshall assured her, thoroughly relaxed. "It would make two of us, actually."

"Two of us?" Mary repeated, raking her fingers through her hair, brushing it out of her eyes. "What have you got to be afraid of? You're not the one housing this rug rat…" she drew a circle around her belly.

"You don't think fatherhood carries its own set of doubts?" he asked seriously. "I am going to be responsible for a living, breathing, human being; one that will rely on you and me for survival in every sense of the word…"

"Yeah, 'cause you're just no good at being responsible," Mary snorted sarcastically. "You've only been looking after witnesses since you could crawl…"

"We'll brush aside your gross exaggeration," Marshall rebutted. "This is totally different, as you are well aware. This is a life we will mold from beginning to end; no time for calculations or planning. We have no inkling of who this baby is or what they will need, aside from the basics…"

"Okay, now you're freaking me out a little bit…"

"The point is," the man interrupted firmly and somewhat loudly. "We are in this together. We lean on each other," and to emphasize his position, he placed a clapping hand on Mary's shoulder.

"So, I'm scared about the process and you're scared of the end result," the blonde quipped. "Swell."

Words weren't needed this time. Marshall easily stared her down, boring into her with his most penetrating gaze; one that said the time for sprinting and bolting from insecurities was past. They had to hold hands, take a deep breath, and plunge.

"Marshall…" Mary whispered, softening under the pure blueness of his beautiful eyes. "Like you said though, this is different," she reminded him. "Last time…"

"But, this isn't last time," he countered before she could go any further, patting the blade now. "There is no reason to believe you won't have a perfectly healthy child…"

"I'm prehistoric when it comes to birthing babies," she snapped.

"You're only six months older than you were when you were pregnant with Jamie."

"Still, I'll be forty by the time this kid arrives."

"Mary…" he sighed, but used a very direct tone in order to shut her down, not wanting her to work herself into a tizzy. She should be overjoyed; she shouldn't be bracing herself for an avalanche. "You can't live in this kind of anxiety – the stress will be bad for you and bad for the baby. You'll have to learn to assume the best, rather than the worst."

Against her will, Mary knew he was right, but this was certainly easier said than done. She'd spent her entire life looking for danger behind every corner; to snap her gun and blast every threat on its backside. She thought of Finkel, and of how she had claimed Mary's need for control was what had put her into a tailspin at the onset of the miscarriage. This was something in the grand scheme that she couldn't control. She could be careful; she could watch her step, but apart from that there was little else she could do.

"The best is asking a lot," she murmured uncertainly, chewing on her lower lip out of nerves. "I don't know that I can go that far."

Spontaneously, it seemed, Marshall craned his neck inward and pecked her cheek, leaving a tingling, intoxicating sensation behind that had Mary raising a few fingers to touch the spot in recollection.

"I know it's scary," he admitted, understanding as ever. "But, I'm here when you feel yourself start spinning."

Mary grinned, "I'm going to hold you to that, you know."

He was visibly encouraged by the smile, of seeing Mary ease up and start to warm to the very valid reality they had just fallen into.

"We are going to be _parents_, inspector."

She couldn't resist rolling her eyes, "Alert the presses, partner. We're gonna need all the help we can get."

XXX

**April:**

Marshall was so giddy with anticipation that Mary thought he might possibly wet his pants. He was grinning goofily like an idiot, beaming all over his long, angular face. She wished she could say she felt the same, but the usual nerves she experienced during what was supposed to be a routine ultrasound persisted. Marshall consistently reminded her that at four months gestation, she was rounding out the sixteen week mark, meaning she was all-but certainly out of the woods. Mary could hardly be sure. Sixteen weeks was supposedly when she'd lost Jamie.

Still, she had to admit that he had a few selling points in his favor for this pregnancy. She'd done the math over and over in her head, trying to figure out if she'd miscalculated the time of conception, but she was positive. Why then, was she so enormously rotund? In her own mind, she looked like she was about to give birth any second. Her belly was extremely swollen; a vast expanse across her middle, paunchy and solidly stout. Fat was really the only word for it when you considered the rest of her. Her face was shaped like the full moon, her hands and feet pinched from excess water. She looked like she'd been inflated.

And so, Mary sat half-reclined on the cot, trying to breathe normally and trying not to take in all the sights and sounds that reminded her of her ultrasound with Doctor Wolk. There were parts that were startlingly familiar. The feel of the wand roving across her tummy. The coolness of the gel. The way she became insecure with her shirt hitched up to expose her stomach. All the signs were there.

And still, Marshall kept up a steady stream of encouragement while he held her hand, jabbering all the while.

"It's a girl," he declared boldly for about the fifteenth time, mostly to bait Mary into an argument and keep her mind off her worries. "I am telling you, it is a girl. I can feel it in my bones."

"Too bad it's _my_ bones, not yours, that are cracking from carrying this kid," she griped appropriately.

"Ah yes, but strictly speaking it is the male who donates both the X and Y chromosome, while you, as the female, can only donate the solitary X," he spouted scholarly, making Mary roll her eyes and causing Doctor Reese to giggle at the foot of the bed. "I am afraid you're outnumbered on this one, inspector."

"Then your _chromosomes_ must be slow swimmers," Mary batted back scathingly, listening with one ear to what was going on with the doctor, waiting for confirmation. "It's going to be hellishly embarrassing when we find out it's a boy and your little men couldn't do the job."

"I believe you're thinking of sperm," Marshall said thoughtfully. "They don't have the same job. My sperm have already done their work," he winked.

"Shut up," Mary snapped.

Her biting tone did cause Marshall to close his mouth, but he was still grinning pompously. Despite pretending they were at odds, Mary couldn't help feeling grateful that he never once let go of her hand. He knew how afraid she was that she would not carry to term – boy, girl, or otherwise.

She wouldn't be this huge if something happened to the baby, Mary thought consolingly. She wouldn't have put on this much weight. It was her only saving grace; to be able to believe that.

"You just want a girl so you can tie her hair in bows and teach her to tap dance and bake cookies…" Mary made a mock gagging noise with her finger down her throat. "It'll be revolting."

"Yeah, and you think I don't know why _you_ want a boy?"

Well, that was because of Jamie, but Mary knew Marshall wasn't going to say that in front of a stranger.

"Why's that, Poindexter?"

"Because you've always been the proverbial 'one of the guys' and you see fit to induct a son into your very own little brotherhood. Bike rides and scraped knees and tree climbing. Very manly, mama."

Mary laughed against her will at the contradictory terms, but she knew it came out rather shaky. Marshall caught the quavering note as well and tightened his grip on her hand. Though he knew what she wanted was to keep up a steady stream of banter, he couldn't help but revert momentarily watching her eyes dart to the screen and back.

"You doing okay?" he asked in an undertone.

Another flick of her eyes, and then a nod.

"We'll know soon," he promised.

And soon they did. Doctor Reese, having been politely listening to their byplay for the last few minutes, finally turned her stool around and Mary felt her heartbeat begin to quicken. Allowing her gaze to finally rest fully on the picture in front of her, she thought she saw defined shapes. What they were, she couldn't be entirely certain, but it was better than nothing, right?

"Well, you two…" the physician began. "I hate to interrupt the repartee here."

"We can pick up right where we left off," Marshall assured her breezily. "How's my girl looking?"

Mary knew that, this time, he was talking about her, not his supposed daughter, and it gave her a warm, contended feeling in the depths of her massive belly. His concern was as much for her as it was for their child. She felt herself begin to relax.

"All of your exam results look healthy, Mary," Doctor Reese spoke directly to the patient this time. "Blood draw, blood pressure – all of it."

Unlike Marshall, Mary was not preoccupied with her own well-being, "How's the baby?"

This rapid comment earned her a knowing grin from the doctor, "Looking great. Right on schedule."

Mary wouldn't believe it until she saw it. While Marshall let out a somewhat cathartic noise from above her, she couldn't commit until she saw that body mold into white on the black screen in front of her. Doctor Reese rotated her stool back around and ran the wand one more time across Mary's stomach.

Instantly, the monitor flickered into life, and while the outlines were no more distinguishable from blue birds in the summer sky, Mary could clearly see that tiny, flashing white light. It wasn't directly in the center; it was going like a strobe toward the right-hand side of the display, but there it was just the same.

"Heartbeat's nice and strong…"

Doctor Reese pointed it out, and as soon as she did so, the room filled with that magical, glorious sound of a thudding, striking vessel.

_Whom-whom-whom. _

It was a beautiful sight and even more beautiful sound. Absurdly, Mary also thought she could make out a second white light to the left of the other. She had no idea what that might be; perhaps the flashing was a glitch in the mechanism.

Nonetheless, watching and hearing in succession was a little too much for Mary, who felt the tears begin to burn in her eyes, but they were cognizant of her relief this time, rather than her sorrow. It was still very hard to wrap her brain around, having convinced herself left, right, and center that surely something had gone awry, despite Marshall's attempts to get her to see the bright side.

"So, he's okay?" she croaked; the last piece of the puzzle.

Doctor Reese nodded solemnly, "Looks very healthy. You're rounding out sixteen weeks, Mary, and twelve is usually a milestone as far as miscarriage is concerned. You're way past that, but I know you were worried due to past experience at roughly fourteen weeks," Mary almost wasn't listening now; she was too eager to be through; to have her verification that everything was all right. "If you're the type to err on the side of caution…"

"She is," Marshall interjected with a shy smile.

"Then twenty weeks is your cut off. After that, I would predict smooth sailing. Loss is very uncommon beyond the fifth month."

This was still four weeks away, but Mary did not care. What would've seemed an eternity that morning now suddenly seemed like the last hurdle to stride over. And Doctor Reese had just said that she was nearly home free anyway; she should only look to twenty weeks if she were truly wary.

"See? Everything's all right…" Marshall placated his woman with a cajoling grin, jostling her shoulders, which were now trembling out of reprieve rather than terror. "I told you things were going to be just fine."

Ordinarily, Mary would've been mortified he would treat her like some overemotional child in front of the doctor, but she was willing to overlook it at this point. She allowed him to hug her briefly, slightly awkward with the way she was positioned on the bed, but he pressed his lips to her cheek and rubbed her back lightly to bring her down off the wave. It also gave her a chance to hide those hormonal tears that had escaped.

"He's okay…" she whispered murkily behind his back.

"_She's_ okay," the man teased.

"Whatever."

A chuckle, "That's my girl," which had become their staple version of 'I love you.'

It was a nice code when they claimed labels were unnecessary. Mary had become rather fond of it.

A voice interrupted their somewhat soaked embrace, "I'd still estimate your due date to be around mid-September, but we'll keep watching the calendar," both partners emerged to listen, Mary wiping her eyes as she straightened. "Now, judging by your conversation earlier, I'm guessing you want to know the sex."

Neither Mary nor Marshall had expected this, despite their continued back-and-forth debate on the subject. Marshall recovered himself first, still clutching Mary's hand.

"You can tell this soon?"

Doctor Reese shrugged, "Well, sometimes you can and sometimes you can't, but I think I have a fairly decent read. This is a rather unique sonogram," there was an odd glint in her eye that made Mary uneasy.

Unique how, she couldn't help wondering. The woman had just said everything was all right, and while there was no reason to disbelieve that, banking on the mysterious look on her face, it still made her nervous.

Nonetheless, she brushed it aside because Marshall was about to start jumping up and down in expectation.

"Well, let's have it!" he nearly bellowed in eagerness. "It's a girl, isn't it?" unable to resist.

"Would you can it?" Mary sniped, feeling her old toughness sneak back to the surface. "I'm the one toting this runt, and _I'm_ telling you it's a boy."

"Well, we'll just let the professional make the call," he shut her down, a note of forced nobility in his voice. Facing Doctor Reese, "What are we saddled with? Male or female?"

For a moment, all the woman did was chortle, smirking at their pair of them, marveling in their closeness and their ability to combat one another. But then, she turned back to the ultrasound and began revolving the wand for a third time. Mary could only guess she was doing this to be sure, and the mutterings under her breath proved it.

"One second…just let me grab the evidence here…"

To Mary, it seemed she was moving all over the board. Her other sonograms hadn't appeared to take the length of the screen. That same extra white light continued to pulsate on the left.

Finally, with both man and woman holding their breath, Doctor Reese concluded her search and gazed at them once more. She seemed to be relishing the reveal more than they were. But Marshall evidently could not contain himself; like a little boy on Christmas morning.

"Was I right?" he whispered theatrically. "Is it a girl?"

This earned him a shrug, and Mary's heart suddenly began to soar.

"Not quite."

That heart, so wonderfully light, flew out her mouth as she seized that motherly intuition she'd been banking on since she'd lost Jamie.

"Ha! I told you, doofus!" she even smacked Marshall's arm. "It's a boy!"

For a minute, Marshall thought so too. Mary certainly saw his features sink into happy acceptance, but that was before they saw a second shrug from their physician.

"Not quite."

Utterly nonplussed, Mary stared. What was Doctor Reese playing at? What sort of game was this? Did she enjoy the two of them so much that she saw fit to lead them on just to watch them bicker? Mary wrinkled her nose, deciding the jig was up.

"What? Am I having an ape or something?"

"No-no…" Marshall rationalized quietly, patting her shoulder, and he sounded funny. "It has to be a boy or a girl. Which is it?"

And then, with four simple words, the universe imploded. Doctor Reese smiled benignly. And then…

"Try one of each."

Mary had only one thought in the ringing silence that followed.

No.

No-no-no-no.

This morphed quickly into several other adjoining phrases.

Not possible. No way. She's wrong. She doesn't know what she's talking about. There's a mistake. This is a fluke. This isn't happening.

In spite of the steady stream of denial, Mary felt strangely calm all the same. She was knocked off her feet, and staring open-mouthed like a moron at the doctor, who still had that silly grin on her face. But, she didn't feel the anxiety she should've expected. She'd been so fearful she wouldn't have one baby. Now she had two?

Her breathing began to sound loud, and this alerted Mary to the fact that there were other people in the room. She stole an advisory glance at Marshall, and found he was looking like she was sure she did. Stunned.

But, she ought to have known he would be the one to speak first.

"One…one of each," he managed in a warbling tremor. "A girl…_and_ a boy?"

Hearing Marshall say it jarred Mary to life, but she repeated the word over and over in her head before it fell out in her mouth in incredulity.

She blinked slowly, taking in the blackness and the quiet for another moment before facing the bright fluorescent lights, shining harshly. A clue to her future.

"Twins."

Doctor Reese gave a satisfied nod that they had come to this conclusion. Mary's head was swimming. She could feel Marshall's palm quivering inside hers.

"Fraternal," the physician declared.

And to Mary's intense realization and astonishment, she pointed out the first heartbeat she had indicated at the start of the appointment, and then the external strobe on the left. Two. Two tiny, steadily beating hearts.

"There's really two?" Marshall uttered, and Mary almost wanted to laugh that he was more dazed than she was. "Fr…fraternal twins? Does…does that mean anything? Versus identical?"

Mary was astounded he didn't already know all about twins and their properties, but she also imagined his brain was rather jammed at the moment.

"Basically, two eggs are fertilized independently by two separate sperm cells…"

It seemed Marshall's sperm, as he'd so proudly boasted, had indeed done their job.

"In the case of identical twins, a single egg and a single sperm split into halves. Their DNA is the same. Not so with fraternal twins. From what I'm seeing here…" she squinted at the picture in front of them. "These two have separate placentas, but that may change."

She scanned their blank faces, but seemed to think her little lesson was helping to ground them, and continued.

"The difference everyone is familiar with is that identical twins tend to look exactly alike, whereas fraternal twins don't always have that trait – although they can. In this case, however, with a boy and a girl, obviously they're going to be fraternal."

The scientific nature of this discussion, which was probably aiding Marshall, had a different effect on Mary.

Two babies. Two babies. Two strollers. Two diaper bags. Two cribs. Two changing tables. Two of _everything_. Including double the possibility for disaster.

"Are they…?" Mary found her voice, but she choked and had to clear her throat. "Are they…safe?"

Marshall's hand immediately stopped wavering and squeezed, ready to be of service. Doctor Reese gave her a sensitive, supportive kind of look.

"They're fine, Mary. I don't want to give you any false ideas here though," her eyes darkened seriously. "Twins do pose a higher risk – in fact, the probability of becoming pregnant with twins increases the older you are."

So that explained it.

"We're going to be seeing a little more of each other," a lofty smirk. "Twin pregnancies require more monitoring to ensure yours and the babies' health. And, you may deliver earlier."

"Why is that?" Marshall demanded before Mary could get there.

"There isn't a lot of room for the babies to move around; they tend to want to be born sooner. But, we can watch our step, warn you to take it easy…"

"We all know how much she loves that," Marshall joshed good-naturedly.

Doctor Reese clearly sensed that the onslaught of information was too much for the moment and decided that to give the pair time to process would be best.

"We're getting ahead of ourselves," she said delicately. "Why don't I go grab your paperwork from the desk and give you two a minute?"

Marshall nodded his approval, "Yeah, thanks."

Doctor Reese made a quiet exit, sticking her clipboard into a slot in the wall before sliding through the heavy wooden door and leaving her patient and her partner in peace.

Even after she was gone though, Mary didn't know what she was supposed to say or do. She finally tore her eyes from the monitor, which had long since gone to black, and focused on Marshall instead. He was pacing, running his hands up and down his jeans. Eventually, they clapped over his mouth, but Mary could tell even beneath his disorientation that he was radiant with bliss.

Easy for him. He didn't have to carry the little suckers. Their entire livelihood for the first nine months didn't depend on him.

"Something else, huh?" she finally blurted out, hoping he would stop and look at her.

It produced the desired result. Marshall came to halt, still with his fingers dragging off the corners of his mouth. He came closer to the bed, making Mary feel like he was seeing all the contents of her whirling dervish brain; his eyes so blue. He could taste her possibly mounting panic.

"How do you feel?" he asked, and he was trying to sound easygoing, but the glee still inched its way through.

Mary ran a hand over her eyes and then over the back of her head, trying to digest, but it wasn't sinking in. It didn't seem real. It did not seem possible that there were two human beings floating within her rapidly ballooning form.

"I really don't know what to feel," she whispered truthfully. "Can we handle two kids at once?"

"Well, we'll have to," Marshall proclaimed gently. "We've both been thrown into the deep end of the pool on this one."

She started gnawing on her thumbnail, afraid she would bite so hard she might taste blood. Her life had been distorted enough since becoming pregnant, but she'd come to accept the change a child would bring. Multiplying the situation could multiply her insanity. She had never, ever banked on something like this.

"I was so sure that _one_ wouldn't even survive," she mumbled, falling back on her thoughts from earlier. "How did I land myself with two?"

"Always one step ahead of the game," Marshall clapped her tightened shoulder. "It's that competitive ire of yours. Why have only one when you could have two?"

Mary knew he was joking to try and lighten her mood, and she did appreciate it. But, she'd suddenly become fixated on another aspect of this whole ordeal. An aspect she'd never even considered, and yet suddenly worried her exponentially-fertile nature would be misconstrued in the eyes of some.

"They're not a replacement," she stated through the silence.

Marshall frowned, "A replacement for what?"

Mary gulped, her throat feeling cottony, "For Jamie." She could see the light dawning in Marshall's pale eyes, but she explained before he could pounce. "Just because I got two this time doesn't mean that-that-that…" she stuttered unfashionably. "That…the…I don't know…the _extra_ one here…" unsure what else to call it. "Is some kind of replacement for the one I lost."

Marshall's gaze was tender, and he put his arm around his woman from where she still lay on the bed, resting his chin atop her hair.

"It's just another chance," he assured her. "No substitutions. I can make that clear to Jinx and Brandi if you like."

"Oh Jesus…" Mary groaned, which made Marshall chortle from above her. "Christ, they are going to lose their shit over this."

"You mean we're not?" he was still laughing nervously.

"No, we are," Mary promised, liking the way she could feel his fingers tickling her arm. "Running in blind has never really been my motto, but I guess it's one I'll have to adopt."

It was this obvious acceptance that made Marshall pull away. When he stared into Mary's eyes, she found herself being wrapped up in the sheer glory that was this man. The fact that she'd been lucky enough to fall into his perfect world and shake it up during a time when she needed him most still amazed her. Having his children was so far beyond anything else she could've ever asked for and she knew, without a doubt, that as long as she had him at her side, twins were something she could manage.

"I'm thinking it's rather ironic that you and I – of all people – ended up with a case of double trouble," Marshall asserted intelligently.

"And why is that?" Mary was almost genuinely curious.

She closed her lids and felt him place a placid, flurrying kiss in the center of her forehead. She loved him. She was his girl.

"You will forever be my partner in crime. And now our kids are going to have their _own_ better half until the end of time. Just like mom and dad."

And Mary knew, fears or no fears, no matter how meek or timid she might someday feel, that she could count on one thing until her dying day. Between Marshall, Baby A, and Baby B, she was never going to succumb to the bare sensation she'd felt from empty arms ever again.

XXX

**A/N: The End! I hope twins don't seem like I'm going overboard, but the odds are with Mary – being an older mom and all. Plus, though I have her emphasize that she doesn't want the unexpected second child to be a replacement for Jamie, in some ways I want it to look like that true second chance. Also, on a personal note, I am really into twins. I have several friends with twins, and they are truly magical – that built-in-best-friend from the get-go. In truth, I've wanted to work twins into a story for a long time, but this seems the first plausible opportunity to have done so.**

**A million thanks, again, to all my reviewers: obsessedwithstabler, JMS529, Hannanball13, redbrainbluebrain, usafcmycloud, Jayne Leigh, Meg, Ares' Warrior Babe, JJ2008, BrittanyLS, carajiggirl, Jena, thena-ditey, tilleygirl, Abby and Liv Snigglebottom, MegManning, Trinitystargazer3, Snokitty, ladypuercoloco, and several guests! You all have surpassed my previous review record by leaps and bounds and I am so appreciative. I do my best.**

**I don't know what's next for me. I would love to continue this tale with the twins, but I need to let it stew a bit more. Hope to see you all again in the future!**


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